Memorial Day -- The Collector's Edition
By Brandon D. Ray and shannono
(publius@avalon.net, shannono@iname.com)
Written February 18-May 6, 1999
================
Header and Notes
================
SUMMARY: The Date is here ...
CATEGORIES: X-file (mythology variety), Romance, Angst
KEYWORDS: Mytharc. Colonization. MulderAngst. ScullyAngst.
Character death, but secondary. Skinner, the Lone Gunmen, Krycek,
Spender, CSM, Diana ... all those fun people. Oh, and MSR. Duh --
what do you expect from Brandon and Shannon? No smut, tho ...
we're so proud we refrained ... ;)
SPOILER WARNING: Lots of 'em. This story is set at the end of U.S.
Season 6, and contains spoilers for numerous episodes, including
the movie, airing up through that time. And not just the mytharc
episodes, either. Note, however, that the final mytharc of Season
6 HAS NOT HAPPENED. This is OUR version of how those plot elements
might play out.
RATING: Strong PG-13 (for language)
==========
THANKS AND CREDITS:
None of this would have been possible without the tireless
contributions of Team Beta: Susanne Barringer, Vickie Moseley,
Stacey Oziel and Susan West. Special thanks also to our editor,
Lena Quinn, for catching the remaining errors in the next-to-
last draft, and to Sara Scott for helping work out some details.
Chapter revisions by Shannon; spellchecking by Brandon.
Anything cool and wonderful in this story must surely be at least
partially to the credit of our great team of editors and proofers.
Any shortcomings which remain must, of course, be laid at the
doorsteps of the authors.
We also wish to express our deepest thanks to Nonie Rider for
providing a detailed analysis of the history and possible
motivations for Alex Krycek. Russian language help by Martina
Voight. Thanks to Sharon Fetter for her insights into the Air
Traffic Control system. Our informant on Fort Benning wished to
remain anonymous. All other location information came from our
own knowledge and our trusty Rand McNally atlases, along with a
few internet searches here and there. Any incorrect information
should be written off as literary license.
A final note: For the most part, this story was written from two
POVs -- Scully's and Mulder's. Also for the most part, Shannon
wrote Scully and Brandon wrote Mulder. But that's not universal,
so anything you don't like can be blamed on both of us equally.
==========
DISCLAIMER: *sigh* Chris Carter, Rupert Murdoch and a bunch of
other people with more money than they know what to do with own
Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Alex Krycek and various other characters
in this story, as well as their backstories and other plot
elements. But we own Andy Baker! So there! (And, of course, any
other minor characters you don't recognize ...)
Oh ... and any literary and lyrical quotes belong to their
creators. All this stuff is used without permission but with no
expectation for compensation -- other than feedback, of course.
==========
AUTHORS' NOTES:
Brandon says:
So now you know what we've been up to for the past several weeks!
When two highly prolific authors suddenly go into stealth mode
you've gotta suspect that SOMETHING is up ... and here it is.
This story came about as a result of another of those ubiquitous
late-night sessions on AIM. I had emailed Shannon earlier in the
day expressing my fears about how the Colonization thread
introduced in "Two Fathers" and "One Son" might play out.
Basically, I was afraid that everything in the show would change,
and not necessarily for the better. We got to talking about this,
and before we knew it we were outlining what we soon started
calling "Memorial Day", a novel length treatment of the
Colonization threat. And the rest, as they say, is history ...
Shannon says:
Actually, the real reason for this story is to prove that we can
do plot, too. But beyond that ... the story came about during
the discussion Brandon mentions, when I made the mistake of
suggesting we write our own version of the end of Season Six. No,
no, it wasn't REALLY a mistake ... except, of course, that we then
spent WAY too much time working out methods, reasons, motivations,
etc., etc. In the process, though, we hammered out what we think
is a pretty plausible scenario. We hope you think so, too.
Geez, Brandon, we sure are long-winded ... maybe we should shut
up and let the nice people read the story.
==========
A special note about Memorial Day for our "non-American" readers:
Memorial Day is a federal holiday in the United States, a day of
remembrance designed as a tribute to those who have died in service
to the nation. It is observed in nearly every state on the last
Monday in May and is usually marked with ceremonies and cemetery
visits in memory of the honored dead. Over the years, it's also
become a sort of kickoff for the summer, a day for picnics and
other outdoor activities.
==========
We DO write other stuff, too, you know ...
Left Field -- Shannon's fanfic: http://fly.to/LeftField
Brandon's fanfic: http://www.avalon.net/~publius/MyStories.html
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
===========
Prologue
===========
"In the stars is written the death of every man."
-- Geoffrey Chaucer
===========
It began not with a bang, but with a whimper. No hovering ships,
no mass abductions, no black plague sweeping across the land; but
a stealth attack, stealing in through the back door in such a way
as to catch us unaware.
It began on a sunny, late spring day in a quiet Southern town
with a military base on its fringes, a town ripe with history and
yet dotted with the pawnshops and adult entertainment that seem
to gravitate toward the prospect of young Army men as customers.
It began in a quintessentially American venue, a minor league
baseball park complete with a raucous mascot, a hot tub in the
stands, and a playground for the kids.
It began on one of the most American of holidays, a day created as
a way to honor the women who gave us life.
And with the beginning, came the specter of the end.
==========
Golden Park, Columbus, Georgia
Sunday, May 9, 1999
7:47 p.m.
"Now pitching for your Columbus RedStixx ... number 42 ...
Scott ... Turnow!"
Scott let the sound of the announcer's overblown voice wash right
past him as he took his last few warmup tosses, nailing the strike
zone each time. As the ball arced back toward him from the
catcher's hand, he ran a quick mental check of the situation --
down by a run, man on second, one out, top of the sixth. Make it
look good, and maybe the boost to his stats would finally get him
that callup to Kinston.
The sting caught him by surprise, inordinately painful for such a
small thing, and he instinctively clapped his free hand against
the side of his neck to crush the thing, just as the ball dropped
into his glove. He brought his pitching hand down to glance at
the black-and-yellow striped bee, then tossed it to the ground
beside the mound and bent to pick up the resin bag, bouncing it on
the back of his hand a couple of times. He dropped the bag and
dusted off his hand on his uniform pants as the announcer called
out the name of the River Dogs' cleanup hitter.
He turned his attention toward the plate, and was hit with a wave
of dizziness. He blinked several times, giving his head a quick
shake, and looked in again. His vision blurred, cleared, and
blurred again, and his knees sagged under him, not wanting to
support his weight.
He heard a commotion building around him as his body slumped
towards the red clay. Concentrating, he managed to look up and saw
a cloud moving through the air, diving and swerving a few feet
above the green of the field. He turned his head and saw teammates,
opponents, fans, scattering, arms waving in a futile attempt to
beat back the invaders.
And then his vision greyed, his head dropped, and he saw no more.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
=========
Chapter 1
=========
Alexandria, VA
Monday, May 10, 1999
4:32 a.m.
Someone was pounding on the door.
Mulder stirred in his sleep and grumbled, pulling his blanket up a
little higher around his shoulders. He didn't want to be disturbed.
It had been past two when exhaustion had finally overtaken him,
and deep in his sleep-fogged brain he knew it couldn't be morning
yet. He just wanted to sleep ...
The pounding returned, and Mulder felt himself gradually returning
to wakefulness. He cursed sleepily, willing whoever it was to go
away and just let him sleep.
Then he heard a key in his lock, followed by the sound of the door
opening and footsteps approaching. His brain groggily registered the
potential threat, but still he couldn't make himself wake up.
And then a hand was on his shoulder, shaking him roughly.
"Mulder? Mulder, wake up."
Scully. Shit.
With a sigh of resignation he allowed his eyes to drift open and
looked up at the shadowy form bending over him.
"Dammit, Mulder, wake up!" She shook his shoulder again, more
sharply than before, and Mulder reached up and grabbed her wrist.
"All right," he growled. "All right, I'm awake." He blinked
owlishly up at her. "What's ... what's up?" As consciousness
returned, it gradually came to him that Scully wouldn't have come
to his apartment in the middle of the night without a good reason.
"Is something wrong?"
She was already moving away from the sofa; in another instant the
lamp came on and Mulder winced automatically at the sudden
intrusion of light into his dark world.
"We've got to get to Atlanta," Scully said, her voice crisp and
professional. "I tried to call you, but I guess you were so sound
asleep you didn't hear the phone."
"Atlanta?" Mulder parroted, but she was already heading down the
short hall towards his bedroom. By the time Mulder struggled to
his feet and caught up with her, she had his pre-packed overnight
bag pulled from the closet. She tossed the bag onto the dresser
and zipped it open as if she'd done it a dozen times before. Which
she had, he realized, as she started poking through the contents.
She pulled open the middle right-hand drawer of the dresser and
grabbed two pairs of dress socks. "Where's your weapon?" she asked
as she stuffed the socks in the bag.
"Top left hand drawer," he answered mechanically, watching as she
retrieved his Sig Sauer, ejected the clip and checked the action
with well-practiced movements. She dropped the pistol into his bag
and zipped it shut again before finally slipping the clip into her
jacket pocket.
Mulder simply stood at the doorway, as if rooted to the spot. He
knew he should be doing something, helping her, but his brain
seemed stuck in neutral, and he couldn't make sense of anything
yet.
Scully turned to see him still standing there, and sighed. "Go
take a shower and get the rest of your things, Mulder, and I'll
fix some coffee." Her tone was patient, but her movements remained
brisk as she brushed by him and headed back up the hall. "Don't
dawdle," she called over her shoulder. "Our flight leaves in less
than two hours."
Mulder finally managed to get himself in motion, and 20 minutes
later, showered, shaved and in clean clothes, he was sitting at
the kitchen table sipping coffee, while his partner reviewed for
him the information she had so far.
"Killer bees, Scully?" he interjected as she stopped for a sip of
coffee. The shower had helped wake him up, and the coffee was
helping even more, but he was still short on sleep and he was
having difficulty focusing on her words.
Scully nodded. "That's right. Remember the case you investigated
in Payson, two years ago?"
Payson, South Carolina. Yeah, Mulder remembered. Bees. Lots of
them. And all those children ...
He nodded as Scully went on. "Well, this is the same scenario, but
on a larger scale. A swarm was released last night at a baseball
game in Columbus, Georgia. About sixty victims confirmed as of
midnight, but that's a preliminary number; the count will almost
certainly go higher. There were several thousand people in the
ballpark."
Mulder was completely awake now. "And the symptoms resemble
smallpox?"
Scully raised an eyebrow. "Apparently, no," she said, an edge of
an emotion Mulder's couldn't quite identify in her voice. "Victims
complained of shortness of breath, weakness in the limbs, pain in
the chest, blurry vision, impaired motor skills ..."
Mulder's eyelids fluttered shut as his memory played back that
exact collection of symptoms being reported in Scully's fading
voice as she collapsed in the hallway outside his apartment.
"They're restocking," he said softly, his eyes still closed as
his mind filled with images of tens of thousands of incubating
hosts, frozen solid in a ship buried under the Antarctic snow.
Scully didn't respond, and when Mulder's eyes reopened, her gaze
was fixed on her hands where they sat folded in front of her on
the table. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before
she spoke.
"I managed to find out through the local police department that
the victims were being routed to two local hospitals," she said.
"But neither would give out any information, and when I called
the police back, no one would talk to me."
Mulder wanted to ask why she hadn't called *him*, but he still
didn't quite feel he had the right, not after the way he'd treated
her three months earlier. He'd ignored her, denied her, done
everything but call her a liar to her face, and their partnership
still hadn't recovered completely.
Besides, she was here now, and that was all that really mattered.
Instead, he asked, "How did you find out about it?"
Scully lifted her head to meet his intent gaze. "After I read the
report on the Payson case, I subscribed to an Internet clipping
service, using 'bees' and certain symptoms as keywords, among
other things," she explained, settling her elbows on the edge of
the table and folding her arms in front of her. "I've added other
information as we've learned more, and late last night, a very
short report came in on the Associated Press wire. I got it when I
checked my e-mail around 11, and it didn't have that much
information, so I made a few phone calls to find out more. Like I
said, I didn't get very far. But I did look up some of the old
newspaper reports online, and Mulder, this looks like Payson all
over again. Only worse."
For a long minute Mulder sat looking at her, his lips pursed as he
processed her statement. He felt a cold knot forming in the pit of
his stomach. He didn't want to face this. It was too soon, and they
hadn't had a chance to assimilate everything they'd done and seen
over the past three months, in both their personal and professional
lives.
But it didn't look like they had a choice.
He expelled his breath in a rush. "Okay," he said reluctantly,
bracing his hand on the chair back as he rose slowly to his feet.
"Let's get going, then."
==========
Interstate 185
Western Georgia
9:57 a.m.
The drive south from Atlanta was monotonous but necessary. All
connecting flights between Atlanta and Columbus had been either
full or canceled, though repeated questioning at various counters
had yielded no acceptable reasons.
Scully's cell phone had been active most of the time since they'd
settled into the car. She'd called the Centers for Disease
Control, the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, the Columbus police
again, and even the state patrol, but it seemed no one was in the
mood to talk.
Her one success was in leaving a message for the reporter, an Andy
Baker, responsible for that single, four-paragraph story. She gave
both their names and cell numbers to the woman who took the call,
adding Skinner's office number as a backup.
A nearly deserted interstate and lack of law enforcement presence
along the route allowed Mulder to adhere to his own internal 80-
mile-an-hour speed limit, cutting a half-hour off the drive time.
The road was flat and straight, and an almost cartoonish view
passed by the windows, with what looked like the same set of trees
and greenery simply repeated every few miles.
"We should be there before eleven," Mulder said as Scully tossed
her phone onto the seat in disgust following yet another stonewall.
He glanced over at her, then returned his attention back to the
highway in front of them. "Getting anything?" he asked.
She sighed. "Nothing. They aren't saying a word. In fact, the more
different people I talk to, the less they all seem to know."
Mulder shrugged, his eyes still on the road. "About what we
expected," he said blandly. "Until they get a plausible cover story
out, the official phrase of the day will be 'deny everything.'"
Scully propped her elbow on the windowsill and lifted her hand to
rub her forehead. She was trying to hide her concern over Mulder's
apparent disinterest in pursuing this case, but she didn't know how
much longer she could. She knew she'd roused him out of a sound
sleep this morning, but sleepiness didn't explain his continuing
lack of enthusiasm. Six months ago, just the mention of the word
"bees" would have had him spouting theories faster than most people
could think.
But he had been unnaturally quiet during their trip, allowing
Scully to handle the phone calls and make most of the suggestions.
If he didn't snap out of it soon, Scully didn't know what she'd do.
Much as the stalwart in her hated to admit it, she needed him with
her every step of the way on this. Too much was at stake for him
to lose his focus now.
She sighed and responded to his comment in an attempt to draw him
out. "I've been trying to figure out what they could cover *with*,"
she said. "Killer bees, I suppose, although they normally migrate
northward, and there have been no reported attacks between extreme
southern Texas and here. That ballpark had something close to 3,000
people inside, so we shouldn't lack for witnesses. They might be
able to cover some of the bee stings, or attribute them to a
disturbed hive nearby, but there's no way to account for the sheer
volume of bees that story reported. A 'cloud' that nearly covered
the stands?"
Mulder chewed at his bottom lip, an old habit Scully knew meant
he was deep in thought. "They might attribute it to some type of
bioterrorism," he said, his voice gradually growing more certain
as he spoke. "In fact, now that I think about it, I remember
hearing a report a few months back about an anthrax scare in this
area. We can find out what happened then; the official report on
this could play to those fears."
He didn't even have to suggest Scully's next call. She already had
her phone back in hand and was punching in yet another set of
numbers, this one more familiar. After a cryptic 15-minute
conversation that started with the words "turn off the tape," she
hung up.
"Byers remembered the report, too," she said without preamble. "He
says it was an anthrax threat, but actually two of them -- one in
Columbus and one in Atlanta. No anthrax was ever found, but several
buildings were evacuated in each city. He's going to e-mail a copy
of the story to my account and we can pick it up when we get to a
landline."
Mulder had started nodding halfway through her story and jumped in
as soon as she stopped talking. "That would make a perfect cover
story," he said. "An air release like that would affect hundreds
in the immediate area, maybe thousands, depending on the wind
direction. Something like that would normally take at least a few
days to uncover, but they could be still on a low-level alert
because of the scare. So they could say they discovered it quickly
and still be believable."
Scully nodded once. "Anthrax does cause symptoms fairly quickly,
so if they announced the diagnosis some time later today, it would
be acceptable," she said.
Mulder shot her a long look. "I'd really like to get a look at
some of those medical records," he said, his eyes focused and
intense.
Scully nearly smiled in relief. He was back, at least for the time
being.
But she simply returned his look, then turned her attention back
to the flat highway before them.
==========
Columbus Ledger-Enquirer offices
Columbus, GA
11:12 a.m.
Mulder and Scully had agreed as they reached town to try the
newspaper office first, since that's where they'd gotten the only
cooperation all day. Inside the building's lobby, they approached
the security desk in tandem, Mulder pulling his badge as they came
to a stop.
"FBI," he said in a bland tone. "We need the newsroom."
The security guard, dark-skinned and sporting a shock of sharply
contrasting grey hair, nodded quickly, his eyes wide. "I'll need
to call Mr. Pryor," he said, reaching for the phone on the desk.
"All visitors have to be escorted."
Mulder's eyes drifted as he waited, his gaze coming to rest on a
nearby display of old front pages. He appeared to be reading the
headlines with interest, but anyone who knew him could tell that
his mind was actually far away.
Scully could tell, but she chose not to interrupt his thoughts.
She had deliberately avoided using the word "colonization";
despite her own beliefs, she knew that was what Mulder believed
the shadowy Syndicate had been working toward. She had her doubts,
of course, but the whole idea was still a sore point with him,
much as any case involving child abductions had always struck his
Samantha nerve. His guilt over so nearly giving up his quest a few
months back was still raw, and the last thing Scully wanted to do
at this point was make things worse.
They waited only a few minutes before the elevator next to the
counter chimed, the doors opening to reveal a young, dark-haired
woman wearing a business suit. She smiled as she stepped toward
them. "Hi, I'm Andrea Baker," she said, holding out her hand.
Scully concealed her surprise as she and Mulder shook hands and
introduced themselves. She'd been expecting a man from the name
"Andy" Baker, but the reporter was instead a woman just a few
inches taller than Scully, with short, curly brown hair and deep
green eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. Her movements were sharp
and crisp, giving the impression of a military school cadet.
"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully," Andy said. "I think I know what you
want to ask me about, and I don't know how much help I'm going to
be, but I'm certainly willing to try." Her eyes sharpened, her
eyebrows lifting minutely, but she gestured nonchalantly, toward
a pair of doors to her right. "Why don't we go into one of the
conference rooms, where we'll have some privacy?"
She was moving toward the room in question before she finished
speaking, and Scully exchanged a brief glance with Mulder before
falling in behind her. Scully realized it was obvious Andy had
something to tell them, but the open lobby wasn't the place for
it.
None of them spoke again until they were inside the conference
room and seated, with the door closed. As soon as they were, Andy's
ebullient mask fell away completely, her expression transforming in
a second from open and friendly to serious and focused -- and just
a bit wary.
"I don't know what the hell's going on around here," she said, her
voice hard and her eyes piercing. "But whatever it is, it's big.
I've been on the phone for the past two hours, and I can't get a
single person to talk to me. And for the past 45 minutes, I can't
even get a call into Fort Benning. With the number of victims I
saw, I would expect them to bring in the Army medics and
transports to help."
Mulder leaned forward in his seat. "You were at the game last
night?" he asked.
Andy nodded briskly. "I was doing some interviews for a story on
a proposed new sales tax," she said, sounding like nothing so much
as a witness on the stand. "I finished a little after seven and
was headed home when I heard the reports start coming in over the
scanner. When I got back there, things were crazy. There were at
least several hundred people who were stung, and probably a hundred
fifty or so were complaining of the symptoms I listed in the
article. I wanted to stay out there and check it out more
carefully, but I had a deadline to meet, so I got as much
information as I could in about an hour and came back here to get
the story written in time for this morning's editions."
"That was the story that went to the wire service?" Scully asked.
"Right," Andy said, nodding in Scully's direction. "We send edited
versions of most of our stories to the AP bureau in Atlanta, and
they picked that one up and sent it out nationally."
"And you've been trying to get more information," Mulder prompted.
Andy nodded again. "I spent another hour on the phone after
deadline last night, and came in early today to start up again.
I've sent out a half-dozen Freedom of Information Act requests
since nine, but they have three days to respond, so I haven't
really expected anything from that. The only thing I've gotten so
far is that Columbus Medical Center treated about 120 people, so
I was just about to head over there when Fred called up and said
you two were here."
She paused and smiled, a little sheepishly. "I'm afraid your
phone message got a little lost in the shuffle," she said, her
eyes shifting back and forth between Mulder and Scully as she
spoke. "And when I did get it ... well, I called a friend in DC
to check you out first. I haven't been having the best luck with
government agencies today."
Mulder nodded and smiled briefly in acknowledgement as he leaned
in again. "You said you can't get a call in to Fort Benning?"
Andy returned her gaze to him. "No, and that's never happened, not
in the two years I've been here. No matter what was going on."
Mulder turned to look at Scully. "Maybe now is a good time to get
a look at those medical records," he said pointedly.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 2
==========
Columbus Medical Center
Columbus, GA
12:02 p.m.
Getting access to the medical records in question turned out to
be easier said than done.
"I'm sorry ma'am." The information clerk's eyes flicked briefly
from Scully to Andy to Mulder and then back to Scully again. "But
I'm afraid I really can't help you."
Scully continued to hold her badge in front of the woman's eyes,
and for at least the thousandth time in their partnership Mulder
couldn't help but admire her calm, steady professionalism. She'd
always impressed him in that regard, but ever since the nightmare
at El Rico Air Force Base her sense of determination and purpose
had seemed to double and redouble.
He supposed it was at least partly in compensation for his own
emotional collapse at the height of that case, but they'd never
really discussed it. The time had never seemed to be right.
Now, he wished they had made time for it.
"Access to medical records by law enforcement officers is a
routine use exception under the Federal Privacy Act," Scully was
saying. "I can provide you with a written statement of need if --"
The clerk was looking nervous, but she was also shaking her head.
"No, ma'am," she interrupted. "You don't understand. It's not
that I *won't* give them to you; I *can't*. You see, they
aren't --"
"Sheila, is there a problem?"
Mulder turned to see an older woman standing behind them. She was
short, shorter than Scully, actually, with streaks of gray in her
hair and a severe expression on her face.
"Mrs. Peters." The relief in the clerk's voice was impossible to
miss. "These three are from the FBI, and they're asking to see
records of the bee sting patients from last night. I was just
trying to explain --"
"That's fine, Sheila," the other woman responded. "I'll take care
of this." She turned to the two agents. "My name is Marilyn
Peters; I'm the Chief of Medical Information. How can I help
you?"
Scully now extended her badge to Mrs. Peters. "I'm Special Agent
Dana Scully; this is Special Agent Fox Mulder. We're from the FBI,
and we're here to investigate last night's incident."
Marilyn Peters studied them for a moment, then glanced at Andy.
"And you are?"
"Andrea Baker, from the Ledger-Enquirer," the reporter said.
The other woman nodded briefly. "You'll find the public relations
office on one west," she said curtly, and turned her attention
back to Mulder and Scully. "Why don't you come with me and we'll
discuss this in private."
Mulder caught Scully throwing an apologetic look at Andy Baker,
and then the two agents were following the Medical Information
Chief out the door and down the hallway to another office, where
they were motioned into two chairs in front of the desk.
"Now," said Mrs. Peters, settling herself behind her desk.
"Suppose you tell me why you're here."
Mulder remained silent, once again allowing Scully to take the
lead, so in a few brief sentences she gave an edited version of
their interest in the case, concluding with a reiteration of
their authority to review the records under the Privacy Act. As
she finished speaking, the other woman steepled her fingers in
front of her and seemed to be lost in thought for a moment.
Finally, she said, "I'm sorry, but we're not going to be able to
help you." She held up one hand to forestall any objections. "I
didn't say that we aren't willing; I understand the law, and this
medical center has always cooperated with the authorities to the
fullest extent possible. However, in this instance we *can't* help
you, because the records you want are no longer here."
Scully's eyebrows shot up, and Mulder felt his own eyes widen.
"Not here?" he asked. "How can they not be here?"
Mrs. Peters looked slightly uncomfortable, but replied, "The
patients and their charts were transferred out early this
morning."
"Transferred out?" Scully repeated, her voice on the edge of
incredulous. "You mean you transferred out copies, don't you?
You wouldn't have sent the originals."
The other woman's lips tightened slightly. "In this instance we
sent the originals." She glanced briefly at a paper on her desk,
then back up at the two agents. "There were 127 cases to be
triaged. There was no time to make copies." Again she compressed
her lips, and Mulder realized then that she was not very happy
with the situation. "I -- we have been promised that the records
will be returned in due course," she finished.
"Where were they transferred?" he asked.
Mrs. Peters glanced briefly at him, and then away. "I'm sorry. I'm
not at liberty to say."
Mulder nodded slowly, and realized that down inside he'd been
expecting something like this. He leaned back slightly in his
chair, fighting a wave of hopelessness that threatened to sweep
over him. They'd lost again. Less than 24 hours out from the
event, and already the machinery was in motion ...
"Mulder!" He looked up, and saw that Scully was standing in front
of him shaking his shoulder. "Come on," she said. "This isn't over
yet."
He stared up at her for just a moment, drawing strength from her
gaze. He'd been doing that a lot the last few months, and part of
him hated the sense of dependency it created within him. But he
couldn't seem to help himself; he had nothing else left to cling
to.
And after another moment he rose from his chair and followed his
partner out of the room.
==========
12:21 p.m.
The pair stepped into the hallway, but before Scully could even
voice her next suggestion -- finding Andy and seeing if she had
been any more successful -- the reporter appeared from around a
corner just feet away. She caught Scully's eye and gave a tight
little pull of her head, gesturing for the agents to follow her.
Scully glanced at Mulder, Mulder glanced back ... and they turned
in tandem to follow Andy around the corner.
She whirled on them almost immediately, and nothing could have
concealed the gleam in her eyes. "Fort Benning," she whispered.
"I knew it. They're at Fort Benning."
Scully leaned forward. "The victims? *All* of them?"
"How did you find out?" Mulder put in.
Andy grinned widely. "It always pays to make friends with the
environmental services crew."
===========
Georgia Highway 520
East of Columbus, GA
1:22 p.m.
The smell of greasy hamburgers and French fries filled the car,
steered one-handed by Mulder as he gulped down lunch between
sentences. His speed was hovering right at 55 on advice from Andy,
who said the base MPs loved to stop speeders.
"So if the air field is on the south end of the base, then they'd
probably have triage set up in a hangar," he said. "I'd expect
that they'd be shipping at least some of the victims out. If it's
what we think it is, they'll need to keep them cold."
"Why?" Scully asked, pausing for a quick sip of her tea. "If they
want incubators, why keep them cold? Why not just let them
gestate?
Mulder shrugged. "That would raise too much attention," he said.
"It's obvious they're trying to keep this quiet. The last thing
they need is a bunch of nasties running around."
"Excuse me."
Andy's voice came from the back seat, and the agents glanced back
at her to see her eyes wide and her face pale. Her voice shook as
she continued, "What the hell are you talking about?"
Mulder and Scully looked at each other for a long moment, coming
to a silent agreement. Mulder turned his attention back to the
road as Scully twisted in her seat to face Andy more fully. "This
is going to sound, well, crazy," she started.
==========
1:45 p.m.
By the time Scully finished her story, Mulder had pulled into the
parking lot of a convenience store just beyond the military
reservation. Scully had edited her explanation for caution's sake,
and she was careful to cover her and Mulder's differing views, but
she still included all of the most pertinent information.
Andy sat in stunned silence, still trying to absorb all she'd been
told. "So the bees are carrying this virus, and if someone is
stung, they grow this ... creature thing inside them?" she asked,
her tone skeptical.
Mulder shot Scully a crooked grin. "*That* sounds familiar,
Scully," he said, his voice teasing.
Scully ignored him pointedly and spoke to Andy. "I know it sounds
incredible," she said. "I didn't believe it myself, and I still
don't agree with everything Mulder believes. But I do know there's
something big going on here, and I -- we -- are going to find out
what it is."
Andy sat up straighter. "Count me in," she said firmly.
Mulder turned to look at her. "We should tell you, Andy, that this
will be dangerous," he said, obviously choosing his words
carefully. "Scully and I are trained for this. And armed. I don't
think it's a good idea for you to ..."
"Marine Corps, four years, eight more on active Reserves," Andy
cut in. "My gun and license are at home. Take me by to pick it up
and change clothes, and I'm in."
Scully studied her for a long moment, then nodded once and turned
to Mulder. "Let's do that before we try the base," she said. "Did
you get all the information you needed in the drivethrough?"
Mulder nodded as he restarted the car. "Plenty of crossroads, and
I think that second one will be our best bet," he said. "Andy, you
take a look on the way back through and tell me if anything seems
unusual or out of place. There were a few streets closed off with
concrete barricades, but they looked like they'd been there a
while."
"Okay," Andy said. "There are a couple blocked like that all the
time, but most of the roads are open. Did you notice any MP cars?"
"Plain white with blue lights," Mulder confirmed. "Two of them,
one headed each direction. Normal?"
"About so," came the reply. "And we ..."
A shrill trilling cut her off, and all three reached for cell
phones. "Mine," Andy said, pushing a button and answering with
"Baker." She paused to listen, then said, "Where?"
At the tone of excitement in Andy's voice, Scully turned to look
at the reporter, who was grabbing for a notebook. Andy scribbled
something down, then spoke into the phone again, saying, "I'll be
there."
She ended the call, then lean forward over the seat. "Keep going
straight as fast as you can get away with," she directed. "There's
been a bee attack at Riverwalk."
==========
Riverwalk
Columbus, GA
1:57 p.m.
The drive to the site of the attack took longer than Mulder would
have liked, but unless he wanted to totally disregard Andy's
advice, he had little choice. The few minutes they might have
gained in the brief twenty mile drive would have been more than
offset by a delay caused by an encounter with an anal retentive
MP, and so he kept his speed down to a steady but excruciating 57
miles per hour.
Mulder was intent on not allowing this opportunity to slip between
his fingers. He'd had a temporary funk in Marilyn Peters' office
but Scully's determination and confidence had rejuvenated him, as
always, and now he was finally starting to feel good about the
investigation. Everything seemed to be falling into place.
By the time they arrived on the scene of the attack, emergency
services vehicles were already present in abundance, including two
ambulances and half a dozen squad cars from several jurisdictions.
There was also a small crowd of perhaps two dozen spectators being
held at bay by a pair of uniformed officers.
"Great! Looks like we're the first ones here." That was Andy,
already climbing out of the back seat and whipping out her cell
phone as she headed for the center of activity. Mulder went after
her, Scully trailing along behind, and saw Andy punch one of her
speed dials. After a moment's pause, she said into the phone,
"This is Baker. Tell Eddie I'm on the scene now...."
Mulder tuned the reporter out as he moved along after her, slowing
his pace just enough to allow Scully to catch up. He glanced down
at his partner and allowed his lips to quirk slightly as he nodded
in Andy's direction. "Looks like she's in her element," he
remarked.
Scully shrugged, serious. "She has her job to do, just like we do,
Mulder."
"My name is Andrea Baker, and I'm with the Columbus Ledger-
Enquirer."
Mulder glanced back to the front to see Andy holding an open
wallet up to a big, beefy sheriff's deputy who was blocking her
way. "I don't want to interfere," Andy continued, "but I do need
to cover this story."
The man was already shaking his head before she had even finished
speaking -- and then Scully stepped forward, badge in hand.
"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully," she said, "and this is Special
Agent Fox Mulder. We're with the Bureau, and Ms. Baker is with
us."
Mulder saw the deputy's eyebrows shoot up, and he felt his own
eyes widen in surprise, but before he could say or do anything the
other man was shrugging his shoulders and stepping out of the way,
and then the two women were walking briskly forward and Mulder had
to run a few paces to catch up.
"I love it when you're forceful, Scully," he said with a slight
smirk, and was rewarded with an arched eyebrow before he turned
his attention to the scene in front of them -- and suddenly
nothing seemed funny anymore.
There were three -- no, four bodies scattered across the grassy
slope leading down to the river bank. A paramedic and a uniformed
officer worked on each of the victims, while another pair of
officers hurriedly shuttled supplies and equipment from the
waiting ambulances.
Scully was already hurrying forward, Andy in her wake, and once
more Mulder had to run to catch up. One of the officers had
spotted them and was moving to cut them off, but Mulder waved his
badge at the man and again they were allowed to pass.
"I'm a doctor," Scully said, kneeling down next to the first
victim. "What have you got?"
The paramedic working on that case looked up briefly at Mulder's
partner, then back down at the victim -- and Mulder saw that it
was a teenage girl, perhaps fifteen years old, blonde and very
pretty. She was lying face up, her eyes closed, and she was
completely still -- either dead or unconscious. Mulder looked a
little closer and saw her chest rise and fall. Not dead then.
At least, not yet.
The paramedic was shaking her head. "We're not exactly sure,
ma'am. She was reported to have been stung by a bee just before
she collapsed -- apparently there was a small swarm of them,
somebody disturbed a hive or something. And at first it looked
like anaphylaxis -- cyanosis, tachycardia, dyspnea ... absolutely
classic presentation. But look at this."
The paramedic peeled back the girl's right eyelid, and Mulder bent
over Scully's shoulder for a closer look. He was shaken -- but
not surprised -- to see a familiar black oily substance swirling
and coruscating across the surface of the girl's eye. He heard
Andy gasp, and he murmured, "Well, I guess that settles that."
Scully glanced up at him and nodded grimly, then looked back at
the paramedic. "We've seen this before," she said. "We need to get
this girl to a hospital, stat. Put her on two liters of oh-two and
prepare to transport. Radio ahead and alert the ER to be ready to
induce hypothermia."
"Hypothermia?"
"Just do it!" Scully snapped. "If I take the time to explain she
could die." And she rose to her feet and headed for the next
victim, Mulder and Andy on her heels.
The second victim was a man in his mid-30s, his condition to all
appearances identical to that of the teenage girl. Scully
repeated her instructions, got the team assigned to that case
moving, and then strode purposefully towards the third victim, a
middle-aged African American woman lying a few hundred feet away.
"Jesus!"
Mulder spun about at Andy's exclamation, and his eyes widened in
shock at the sight of four olive-drab military trucks bouncing up
over the curb and across the grass, scattering police and
spectators alike and finally pulling to a halt a few feet from the
first victim.
Teams of soldiers dressed in isolation gear and full combat kit
leapt from the back of all four trucks and swept across the
riverbank, brushing aside the civilian crews with ruthless
efficiency as they gathered the four victims and loaded one into
each waiting truck. Then the convoy rolled into motion again, and
in another moment it was gone.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 3
==========
2:13 p.m.
The convoy had barely started in motion before Scully was racing
for the car. It took her a few seconds to realize she didn't hear
footsteps behind her; she slowed and glanced briefly over her
shoulder, to see Andy, rather than Mulder, starting to follow her.
Her partner was still standing where he had been when the trucks
first appeared, staring after them in apparent shock.
Scully skidded to a halt by the driver's side door of their rental
and turned and yelled back to her partner. "Mulder! Move your
ass!" She was gratified to see him jerk back to reality, and in
another moment he was running for the car.
She turned her attention to Andy, who was halfway to the car.
"Stay here and see what you can find out; We'll call you in a
minute." Mulder had arrived by then, and she turned back to him.
"Keys!" she demanded, and he wisely didn't argue, tossing her the
set from his pocket as he moved around to the passenger side.
He joined her in the car as she brought the engine to life, and
she started talking as she peeled off in pursuit of the military
convoy.
"Call Andy," she said without preamble. "Her card's in the outside
pocket of my briefcase. Tell her to get as many answers as she can
at the scene." Mulder had dug out the card by then and was
punching in the numbers on his cell phone as Scully continued.
"They'll probably have a cleanup in the works pretty fast, so if
we don't get the information now, we never will," she said.
Andy answered just then, and Mulder relayed Scully's message, then
paused a few seconds and said, "All right." He lifted the phone
from his ear and covered the microphone with his hand. "She wants
to talk to you," he said.
Scully nodded. "Just hold the phone for me; I need both hands to
drive," she said. He lifted the phone to her face, and she said,
"What's going on, Andy?"
"That's what I want to know," Andy responded. "What *is* this
thing?"
"I don't know," Scully said. "That's why we need you to find out
everything you can. Keep your phone free as much as possible, and
we'll call you as soon as we can. Don't call us; we may not be in
a good situation for the phone to ring." She paused, then asked,
"Are you okay to get where you need to go?"
"Yeah," Andy replied. "I know most of the Columbus cops out here,
so I can grab a ride to the office with one of them and get my
car."
"We'll call," Scully repeated, turning her full attention back to
the road and the fast-moving convoy she was following. Mulder took
the cue to shut off the call and tucked the phone back into his
pocket.
But he remained silent, and after a few moments, Scully shot him
a quick glance. Normally, he'd be rattling off theory after theory,
many of them primarily aimed at getting her ire up. But right now,
he seemed somewhere far away, and Scully didn't like it at all.
She started to speak, hesitated, then forged ahead. "Mulder?" she
asked. "Are you all right?"
"Hmmm?" Mulder's reply was as distant as the expression on his
face.
"Mulder!" Scully repeated his name, a little more sharply this
time, and he jumped slightly. "I said, are you all right?"
Mulder's eyes gradually refocused on her. "Yeah," he said, his
speech lethargic. "Yeah, I'm okay."
Scully glanced at him again. "Are you sure, Mulder?" she asked,
still unconvinced. "I'm gonna need you here with me on this one."
He continued looking at her and nodded, slowly. "I'll be fine,
Scully," he said, his voice a little stronger. "Really."
Scully gave him one last sidelong look before turning her eyes
back to the road ahead of them. "Okay," she said. "So tell me what
you're thinking about all this."
Mulder paused so long that Scully was on the verge of pulling over
and checking him for shock. When he finally did begin speaking,
his voice has an eerie, dreamlike quality that did nothing to
settle her fears.
Neither did his words.
"Things fall apart, the center cannot hold ... mere anarchy is
loosed upon the world ... the blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and
everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned ... the best
lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate
intensity ..."
His voice trailed off, and silence hung in the air for long
moments. Scully's heart clenched in her chest. She was losing him
again, the despair and hopelessness that nearly drowned him three
months earlier threatening to overtake him once again. She was
tempted to abandon the chase, pull the car over and do something --
anything -- to snap him out of it.
But then he shifted in his seat and shook his head, as if clearing
away cobwebs. And he began to speak again, as if nothing had ever
happened.
"This is just what we expected, Scully," he said, his words clear
and precise. "A planned, controlled release of bees to infect the
population with the virus. Victims taken away by the military,
with no official record of their conditions. This secondary attack
was probably unplanned, the result of a few bees that got
separated from the primary swarm.
"The symptoms we've seen before, but not in quite this way. The
people infected with the virus -- *purity* -- whatever it is --
they didn't seem to *have* any symptoms, at least not until ..."
His voice faltered here, but he finished anyway. "Until you were
stung." He paused, then went on. "They seemed normal, until they
were threatened, and then they displayed unusual strength, and
struck out against the threat."
Scully nodded. "But these people *did* show symptoms," she said.
"And I didn't ... when I was stung, you didn't see the ..." She
couldn't quite say it.
"No," Mulder finished, and Scully could feel his eyes intently on
her. "You didn't have that symptom, at least ... not before ..."
Jesus. They *still* couldn't even talk about it.
Scully was disgusted with both of them, even though she knew she
couldn't really blame herself or Mulder. They both had good
reason to want to avoid addressing the subject of her abduction
nearly a year before, but they needed to talk out everything they
knew if they were too have any hope of figuring this out in time
to do any good at all.
"Mulder," she started, having no idea what she was going to say
next but knowing she needed to say *something*. "We have to talk
about it. I don't want to any more than you do, but we need to
hash out everything we know about this virus or whatever it is,
and than means we have to talk about ... what happened to me last
summer." She paused again, then said, firmly, "We have to talk
about how I reacted when I was stung, why I was abducted, how and
where you found me, and what, exactly, that vaccine did."
There. For the first time, it was all out there on the table. Now
all Mulder had to do was jump into the game.
==========
2:28 p.m.
"...what happened to me last summer."
Her words echoed and reechoed in Mulder's mind, and again he felt
his attention drifting away from matters at hand.
Last summer. Last summer had been a fucking disaster, one
catastrophe following another, as seemingly inevitable and
unstoppable as an avalanche or a tidal wave. And the crowning
touch, the thing that had very nearly driven him to the self-
destruction he'd always known was waiting for him, was when Scully
had been taken from him. Again.
Mulder closed his eyes for a moment and tried to drive away the
memories, but they didn't want to go. They never wanted to go,
they never wanted to leave him alone. Even when he was asleep
they hovered around him, dark and menacing, always on the verge
of overwhelming him, and now he felt them closing in again ...
He was brought back to reality by Scully calling his name again,
and he realized that the car was decelerating rapidly. He focused
his attention to the front and saw that they were approaching a
gate in a high chainlink fence, guarded by two men in full combat
gear. A sign on the fence read, "Lawson Army Airfield --
Restricted Access -- Authorized Personnel Only."
Scully pulled the car to a halt in front of the gate, and one of
the soldiers approached her window, while the other stepped off to
the other side, unslinging his rifle as he did so -- and Mulder
suddenly realized that the man was positioning himself so that the
car would be in a crossfire if such became necessary. He turned
to Scully to warn her, but it was too late; her window was already
sliding down.
"This is a restricted area, Ma'am," the soldier said. "I'm afraid
you'll have to leave."
"We're with the Federal Bureau of Investigation," Scully replied.
"I'm going to take out my badge, now. And we're both armed, okay?"
The man's expression didn't change, but Mulder saw his gaze flick
quickly to the other guard, and then back to Scully. He nodded
slightly, and said, "Okay, Ma'am. Slowly."
Out of the corner of his eye Mulder saw Scully nod in return and
start reaching for her I.D., but the bulk of his attention was
focused on the soldier who had not spoken. He knew that if the
guards decided to shoot, he and Scully wouldn't have a prayer,
but he was determined not to go down without trying. Or, more
accurately, he wasn't going to let anything happen to Scully
without making some effort to protect her, no matter how futile.
A moment later Scully was holding her badge out the car window so
the soldier could examine it. He gave it a good long look,
glanced up at Scully's face and then back down at her picture
again, and finally looked back up at her and nodded for her to put
it away. "You're still going to have to leave," he said. "No one
passes this checkpoint without proper authorization. Express
orders from the base commander."
"How long have those orders been in effect?" she asked.
"It wouldn't be appropriate for me to say, Ma'am," he replied.
"We're looking for some trucks," she said. "Four of them: olive-
drab, with military markings. We think they came this way. They
were carrying four people -- patients of mine. I'm a doctor, and
I was in the middle of treating these people when they were ...
they were taken from me. I have to find them. Their lives may
very well be in danger."
The soldier took a couple of steps back from the car and unslung
his rifle. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Ma'am."
For just a few seconds longer Scully and the guard stared at each
other; Mulder could practically feel the icy rage in his partner's
stare. Finally she nodded, rolled her window back up and put the
car in reverse. A moment later she had turned the car around and
they were heading back up the highway towards Columbus.
Mulder slumped down in his seat again as the car sped down the
highway back towards the city. He knew his partner well enough to
be able to guess what must be going on inside her head, and he
wasn't at all sure he was ready to deal with it.
She was angry, of course -- angry and frustrated at having been
thwarted by the guards. But that was only on the surface, and it
was the least important part of what he knew she must be feeling.
Deeper down, in the place where Dana Scully really lived, he knew
that she was afraid.
It was not a craven fear, of course. Mulder had never in his life
known anyone as brave and selfless as this woman. But she was
afraid, nonetheless, and he had known it for a long time, and it
all centered on fear of losing control. And now, unless he was
completely off-base, her fear was stronger than it had ever been
in all the years he'd known her -- and it was all because of his
own inability to cope with the things life had been throwing at
him lately. Something had to break. Soon.
He was drawn from his reverie by a change in the car's motion, and
for the third time in less than thirty minutes he dragged himself
back to awareness of his surroundings. This time he saw that
Scully had pulled off the highway into a rest stop. He sat in
silence as she maneuvered past several parked semis, and finally
brought the car to a halt. He waited for a moment longer, still
not saying anything, hoping against hope that maybe this was just
a bathroom break, even though he knew in his heart that it was not.
And finally, his partner turned in her seat to face him.
"Mulder?" she said, very softly. "Are you in there?"
He nodded wearily and reluctantly. "Yeah, Scully. Yeah, I'm here."
A flicker of relief passed across her face, and then was gone so
fast he wasn't even sure it had really been there. "Good. Because
I'm ... I'm really gonna need you, Partner." She reached out and
took one of his hands and squeezed it gently. "I can't do this
alone."
He nodded again. He'd known this moment was coming. She'd been
carrying him for nearly three months now, ever since El Rico, and
he'd known all along that there would be a limit to her endurance.
"I ... I know, Scully. I know you need me." He squeezed her hand
in return, and was surprised at the strength he was able to put
into the gesture. "And I know you've been ... doing a lot for me
recently, and you have no idea how much I appreciate it."
Mulder paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts, and
trying to figure out just how much he wanted to tell her. Twice
in the last year he'd opened up to her pretty much completely:
Once in the hall outside his apartment, just before she was taken,
and then as he lay in a hospital bed after she'd pulled him out of
the Bermuda Triangle. She couldn't possibly have missed his
intentions, but she'd chosen not to act on them, and he didn't
want to push himself on her.
But there were still some things he needed to say to her.
"Scully, I ..." He heard his voice trail off, and he shrugged
helplessly. "I don't know what to say. I know you need me, and
I'm just ... I'm overwhelmed that you're able to tell me that; I
know how hard it is for you to open up and admit something like
that."
He gave her hand another squeeze. "And I want to be there for you,
Scully; there's nothing in the world I want more. You're the
most --" He stopped in mid-sentence; that was a bit too close to
the bone. Try again. "You're very important to me, and I ... value
your friendship." He shrugged again. "I'm trying, Scully; I'm
really trying." He shrugged a third time and closed his eyes.
Please, god ... let it be enough, at least for now.
============
3:21 p.m.
After Mulder fell silent, Scully pulled back out of the rest stop
without releasing his hand. She continued to drive one-handed and
soon heard the shift in his breathing as he fell into a light
sleep. His grip on her right hand never faltered, though, and she
didn't try to extract it.
She reran Mulder's little speech in her head several times, still
a little shocked and amazed at how much he said in so few words.
It might not have had the force or desperation of his declaration
in the hallway outside his apartment, but without the imminent
threat of her departure hanging between them ... well, it was
somehow even more meaningful.
She had a feeling there had been more he'd wanted to say, but
something was holding him back. Not surprising; the two of them
had held back so much from each other for so long that it took a
real effort for them to open up. They'd been doing better over
the past few weeks, but old habits were hard to break.
She was inordinately grateful -- and reassured -- that he'd been
able to say as much as he had. If he was still focused enough on
her, and his own feelings, to put them to voice, then he wasn't
gone completely.
But she was still worried. He was too close to the edge for her
comfort, but she wasn't sure what, if anything, she could do about
it. She'd meant it when she said she needed him with her, and not
just on this case.
She needed him with her all the time, even if she couldn't quite
bring herself to come out and say it to him.
Sighing softly, she headed back into the city, her mind focused on
getting rooms in one of the motels she'd seen earlier. She also
needed to give Andy a call to see if she'd found anything new at
the scene.
Plus ... she was getting hungry. That little hamburger and Coke
for lunch just wasn't holding up against her harrowing afternoon.
She spied a Holiday Inn Express on the left and carefully slid
her hand from Mulder's to make the turn, trying not to wake him
quite yet. But the second her fingers cleared his, he jerked in
his seat, his eyes flying open to land on her.
"Scully?" he asked, his voice raspy. "Where are we?"
"A motel, Mulder," she replied, pulling the car to a stop outside
the office and turning in her seat to face him. "You wait here
while I get us checked in, and then we'll see about some dinner.
Okay?"
He nodded slowly. "Okay," he said, closing his eyes and lowering
his head back against the seat.
Scully watched him intently for another few moments, then climbed
from the car and headed inside.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
===========
Chapter 4
===========
Holiday Inn Express
Columbus, GA
6:34 p.m.
Mulder awoke to the sound of voices.
At first he thought he was back on the sofa in his apartment, and
that the voices were coming from the television, but then the
memories came flooding back. Georgia. They were in Georgia, on a
case, and nothing was going right, and he had just collapsed on
his partner. Again.
Scully.
His eyes popped open and he struggled to a sitting position. He
was in a darkened motel room, lying -- now sitting -- on one of
the beds. The voices were coming from the other side of the room,
and he shifted his gaze in that direction to see someone standing
in the doorway. Two someones, and one of them was Scully. He felt
himself relax, and only then did he realize how tense he'd become
in the few seconds since he'd awakened.
"Scully? Is everything ..." He let his voice trail off as he
finally internalized the fact that there was another person
standing next to his partner.
"Mulder," Scully said, turning and flipping on the light as she
stepped back into the room. "I'm sorry; we didn't mean to wake
you."
Mulder squinted at the sudden illumination and realized that the
other person was Andy Baker, still standing in the doorway.
Automatically, he noted that she'd changed from her business
clothes to jeans, a black t-shirt and a sleeveless black vest
which was rather surprisingly bulky considering how warm the day
was. A medium-sized shopping bag dangled from one of her hands.
Scully continued, "But I guess it's about time you got up; Andy
just got here, and we need to make some plans."
Mulder nodded slowly as he finally regained full consciousness.
There'd been the incident at the Riverwalk ... the futile pursuit
of the trucks ... that damned one-sided conversation at the rest
stop.
Fuck. He'd screwed up again with that little speech of his, hadn't
he?
He shook his head and pushed it all away; Scully needed him, and
she needed him to concentrate on the present, not wallow in his
mistakes of the past.
He glanced around the room and saw Scully's suitcase sitting on
the bureau; a few feet farther along the same wall the connecting
door to the next room stood open. He felt himself flush slightly
as he realized he must have fallen asleep in her room.
He felt a slight touch on his shoulder and turned to see that his
partner was now standing next to him, her gaze locked on his.
"It's okay, Mulder," she said softly. "You needed the rest; I
didn't mind."
For a long moment neither of them moved or spoke, but to Mulder
the silence seemed to speak volumes. She really did seem to
understand. He knew that he had hurt her a few months back, and
hurt her badly, and they were still working through that. But
perhaps this afternoon they had made progress. Perhaps the few
sentences he'd managed to stammer out hadn't been so bad after
all.
"Uh ... guys?"
Mulder tore his eyes away from his partner's and glanced back
across the room to see Andy still standing just inside the doorway,
looking as if she felt awkward and out of place. He tried to think
of something to say to her, but nothing was coming to mind.
"Sorry, Andy," Scully said, her hand still resting on Mulder's
shoulder. "Come on in and sit down." She nodded toward the bag
Andy held. "I take it you were able to get the things I asked you
for?"
Andy smiled as she crossed the room and set the bag on the table.
"Yep," she confirmed. "Even the sunflower seeds."
Scully glanced down at Mulder again, giving him a smile that seemed
to say, "See, Partner? Someone's looking out for you." She squeezed
his shoulder before removing her hand, then reached into the bag
and pulled out the package of seeds and handed them to him. She
then proceeded to remove half a dozen Chinese takeout containers
and set them on the bedside table. As the smells from the
containers started to permeate the room, Mulder's stomach growled.
The three of them tore into the food as if they hadn't eaten in
days. To Mulder's surprise, his partner chose to sit on the bed
next to him rather than dragging over a chair, while Andy rather
diffidently sat on the other bed. And for perhaps 20 minutes they
were all too busy eating to do much talking, beyond the occasional
request or offer to trade containers.
Finally Mulder set down his current container and leaned back
against the headboard with a sigh of contentment. "God, that was
good," he commented. "I really needed that, *and* the sleep." He
glanced down at Scully, who had scooted up against the headboard
next to him and was finishing off the princess chicken. "Thank
you."
She looked back up at him, and in the space of a few seconds he
could see an entire series of thoughts and emotions race across
her features, too quick and complex for him to comprehend. Then
her lips quirked and she nodded slightly, and she leaned forward
and pitched her empty container into the wastebasket on his side
of the bed.
Glancing across at Andy, still sitting on the other bed, she said,
"Well, I guess now it's time to get down to business."
==========
Alabama Highway 165
West of the Chattahoochee River
Near Fort Mitchell, Alabama
11:39 p.m.
The rental car was pulled up under the low-hanging trees, several
yards from the side of the winding, two-lane road, and for once
Scully was glad for the ubiquitous dark blue color of the Taurus.
Made for better camouflage on these late-night raids, anyway.
She and Mulder pulled on their black gloves, his brand-new and
hers borrowed from Andy, since neither had thought to pack for
such an "adventure." Both of them were dressed in black head-to-
toe, Scully's hair tucked under a baseball cap, also borrowed from
Andy.
Luckily for them, the night was relatively cool for mid-May.
Scully rechecked her weapon and tucked it into the holster at her
back, then checked her flashlight; Mulder was doing the same in
the driver's seat. Scully then pulled out the pager she carried,
also borrowed from Andy, and double-checked that it was set for
vibration. It would be used for communication, since Andy would
be staying in the car as a lookout while she and Mulder headed
toward the base.
Finished, she turned halfway around in the seat to face Andy, who
was checking her own weapon, a 9mm Beretta, the same kind she'd
used as her personal sidearm in the Marine Corps. Mulder had taken
a kind of perverse delight when he discovered she carried a "real"
weapon; the bulky vest she wore had turned out to be a method of
concealment.
The group had taken nearly two hours to hash out their plans for
the evening, poring over several maps Andy brought with her and
discussing their options. Their final decision was to approach
the base from the Alabama side of the river, where Andy knew of a
spot with a clear view of the airfield.
"You can thank my one-and-only blind date for that," she'd said,
her tone disgusted, when questioned about the information. "I went
out with him as a favor to a friend a couple years ago, and he'd
just gotten out of the Army. He was stationed at Benning for three
years, and he couldn't resist showing off all his 'inside military'
information." She grinned at Mulder. "He was pretty surprised to
see my weapon, too, but not as shocked as he was when he got too
friendly and I threw him flat on his back with one hand."
Scully held back a grin at the image the story evoked, just as
Andy finished reholstering her weapon and looked up at her. "You
ready?" Andy asked, glancing at Mulder as well.
"Ready as we'll ever be," he replied, slipping his own flashlight
into the front pocket of his black leather jacket. He picked up
the brand-new pair of high-powered field glasses from the seat
and reached for the door handle.
The three clambered from the car and met at the front, where
Scully checked her watch. "Eleven forty-five," she said, glancing
at Andy, who checked her watch as well and nodded. "Ten minutes to
the riverbank; we'll call a half-hour after that to check in."
"Good luck," Andy said, and Scully shot her a quick smile before
turning toward the river, Mulder beside her.
==========
Sure enough, ten minutes later they were ensconced on the bank of
the river, lying on their stomachs, eyes trained on the lights of
the airfield, less than two hundred yards away. The river was at
its narrowest point here, putting them half as far away as they
would have been in any other position.
Mulder had the glasses out and was scanning the field, reporting
everything he saw out loud, but softly. "Looks like five planes
on the runway, pretty good sized ones, though I can't see clearly
enough to tell what kind. Transports, looks like. Lots of people
milling around, a line of trucks along one side."
He scanned further, and froze. His breathing caught; Scully was
close enough to feel it. "What is it?" she whispered insistently.
He stayed motionless for another few moments, then sucked in a
breath. "Carriers," he rasped out. "For ... they're ..." He paused
and shook his head, then forced the words out. "Like the one you
were transported in."
Scully's eyes widened in alarm. Mulder had pulled his head back
from the glasses and was staring off at some uncertain point in
the distance, his hand slack on the glasses. Carefully, she reached
to take them from him and lifted them to her own eyes, training
them on the grouping of planes.
Sure enough, sitting on the runway between the trucks and the
planes were several gurney-like frames topped with cases of some
kind, with clear covers. They were somewhat like the litters used
to remove injured people from dangerous areas, like skiers from
the sides of mountains, she thought, but these were larger.
The shape was reminiscent of a coffin, she registered, her mind
automatically shifting into clinical mode. Tanks were hooked on
the sides of the covers -- for oxygen? -- and as she focused in
more carefully, she could see whiteness on the glass, either fog
or ice.
She looked at Mulder sideways. "Mulder?" she asked gently. "When
did you see the carrier?"
"In the ship," he answered, in a dazed, too-controlled monotone.
"Your clothes were in it. And your cross. I looked for you and
found you near it. I used one of the tanks to break the glass."
Scully reached out a hand, laying it on his forearm, intending to
comfort him. But before she could say a word, she felt a sharp
pain on her lower back and gasped out loud, her hand automatically
flying to clamp down on the spot.
"Scully?" Mulder was suddenly fully alert and focused on her, his
eyes wide. "Scully, what is it?"
"Something ... my back," she said, moving her hand slightly and
feeling something under it. "Something's on my back."
==========
11:58 p.m.
At Scully's words, Mulder went on autopilot, grabbing his
flashlight and sitting up. He reached for her hand and pushed it
gently aside, then pulled the tail of her shirt from the waistband
of her jeans.
There, at the small of her back, sat a tiny, black-and-yellow bee.
And Mulder's heart seemed to stop.
Oh god. Oh god. Not again.
"Mulder? Mulder, what is it?"
Oh god. Please god, make it not be happening. Please --
"Mulder!"
Mulder shook himself, and tried to force himself to focus. Focus.
He needed to do something, he needed to take control. Focus.
Scully. The bee ....
Scully.
Almost as if acting of its own volition, his hand swooped down on
the insect, snatching it from his partner's back and crushing it
savagely between gloved thumb and forefinger. His next impulse was
to throw it away into the darkness, to deny its existence, but a
small corner of rationality reminded him that this was evidence,
their first real evidence, and so with a mighty effort of will he
stuffed it hastily into his pocket. He then grabbed Scully's elbow
and slid down the embankment to the river's edge, pulling her
roughly after him.
"Mulder!" Her voice was a sharp hiss in the darkness. "What the
hell are you doing?"
"We've got to get out of here," he said flatly, starting to move
along the river, still dragging her after him. The riverbank was
about four feet high along this stretch, and so they had to crouch
to avoid detection. They hadn't gone more than three or four steps
before she started to struggle in earnest.
"*Dammit*, Mulder!" Scully gave an especially sharp yank and
managed to pull free of his grip, causing them both to stumble,
but in opposite directions. Mulder maintained his balance by the
barest of margins, and turned back to see his partner glaring at
him as she struggled back to her feet from where she'd fallen.
"Scully, I --"
Her expression changed suddenly, and he stopped in mid-sentence as
he saw her slap her hand against her left hip. No, god. No, this
isn't the reaction starting. Not again, god. Please ...
"Mulder, we've got to get out of here," she whispered, and
suddenly she was moving past him and along the river's edge, and
Mulder had to hurry to catch up. "Andy's pager just went off," she
explained over her shoulder. "Could mean trouble."
Mulder nodded, but she'd already turned away from him again, and
for a few minutes the partners hurried along together in silence.
Mulder tried not to think about the bee; he tried not to imagine
Scully suddenly collapsing, and the black oil roiling across her
eyes. She was showing no symptoms, he reminded himself. She was
fine, and she was going to be fine. They weren't going to take her
from him, not again. He'd die before he allowed that to happen
again.
At length they reached the low point in the bank where they'd
begun this little adventure, and in a matter of seconds both
agents had scrambled up the embankment to level ground. They
paused briefly to orient themselves, then headed in the direction
of the car.
"Get down!"
The urgency of the whispered command denied any possibility of
disobedience, and Mulder was diving for the turf even before he'd
identified the voice as belonging to Andy, burying his face in the
dirt and wrapping his arms around his head. A fraction of a second
later Scully landed next to him, and then the two agents held
perfectly still, barely even breathing, as Mulder tried to listen
for the threat which had prompted Andy's order.
A minute passed. Two minutes. Three. Finally, in the direction of
the river, Mulder heard a very faint rustling noise, no more than
tall grass momentarily disturbed by a light breeze -- but the air
was perfectly still, and a prickle ran down Mulder's spine as he
sensed a presence only a few feet away.
Part of him was screaming to do something -- anything. Crawl away,
turn and attack, even get up and run. But his training at Quantico
stood him in good stead, and he kept repeating to himself one of
the basic rules all agents were taught: In darkness the human eye
detects motion rather than shape or color. A man on the ground in
the dark can remain undetected even if he is only a few yards from
his opponent, so long as he remains perfectly still.
More time passed, but whether it was five minutes, or ten, or even
fifteen, he couldn't say. The rustling was not repeated, but still
there was the sense of someone or something nearby ... until
suddenly it was gone, without any explanation or resolution. And
still Mulder and Scully remained quiet and motionless, as more time
trickled by.
Finally something moved in his peripheral vision, and Mulder's
muscles tensed as he prepared to reach for his weapon, but even as
he was about to act Andy's voice floated to him from the darkness.
"I think we're clear now. Come on." And the shadow turned and
moved away in the direction of the car, and after another moment
Mulder and his partner rose to their feet and followed.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 5
==========
Northbound on Alabama Highway 165
Approaching Columbus, GA
May 11, 1999
12:41 a.m.
"There were two squads of troops," Andy was saying, her voice
tense, as she guided the car back towards Columbus. "I think they
were Rangers, but I couldn't tell for sure. They moved like
Rangers." Her grip tightened on the steering wheel, and her tone
turned hard. "And I wish to hell I knew where they came from,
because they were just *there*. I never saw or heard a thing."
"It's okay, Andy," Scully said from the front passenger seat.
Mulder wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up in back, but at the
time the important thing had been to get away, and fast.
"They were obviously professionals," Scully went on, "and you did
the best you could. I'm just glad none of us was hurt or captured."
Andy shook her head. "No, you don't understand," she said
insistently. "I'm supposed to be good at this. This is what I was
trained for. And I thought I still had it, and because I
overreached I almost got the two of you taken prisoner or killed."
Mulder opened his mouth to offer reassurance, but Scully beat him
to it. "No, Andy -- that's not true," she said, leaning toward the
other woman. "You *saved* us. Without your warning we would have
been cut off. It's only because of you that we're still free and
alive and able to continue the investigation."
Mulder glanced at Andy, who was shaking her head vehemently. "I
fucked up," she said. "Don't try to sugarcoat it. I was the
security detachment, and if I'd done my job right we would have
been on the highway and on our way back to Columbus before those
troops even got close."
For a moment there was silence in the car. Mulder wanted to say
something, he wanted to tell Andy that Scully was right, but he
was exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and the words just
wouldn't come.
Finally Scully spoke again, very quietly. "Look, we're all tired,"
she said. "It's been a long, hard day, and what we all need is to
get some sleep. I'm sure after we've had a chance to rest things
will look better." Mulder saw her shoulders shift, and realized
that she must have briefly touched Andy's arm, lending energy to
the other woman just as she had done countless times for him. He
felt a thrill of pride at this knowledge; Scully was so strong, so
very, very strong ...
"I mean it, Andy," she said. "I really mean it. So why don't you
just drop us at the motel, and we'll all get some sleep. And
tomorrow we'll get together again and try to figure out what to do
next."
And after that it was silent in the car.
==========
Room 204
Holiday Inn Express
Columbus, GA
3:33 a.m.
Scully watched the red, glowing numbers of the clock change again,
starting another long minute of this seemingly endless night.
She pulled the thin motel pillow more tightly against her chest,
trying through sheer force of will to close her eyes and find
sleep, but she was no more successful than she had been for the
past two hours.
She could feel the tiny bump on her lower back as if it were the
size of her hand, throbbing in counterpoint to the pounding of her
heart. Even with all the things they'd seen that day, she'd never
once considered that what she'd felt on the riverbank was a sting.
A bee sting.
It took until Andy left Mulder and her at the motel and they were
back in Scully's room for Mulder to finally force the words out
and show her the tiny, crushed insect. And then she understood his
reactions at the river -- his frozen shock, followed by frantic
retreat. She was just thankful he'd kept enough control to hold
onto the bee; he'd confessed he'd nearly tossed it aside.
She had, so far, shown no symptoms, other than the raised mark at
the sting site. But it had taken an hour for her to calm Mulder
enough for him to return to his own room, and even then he
insisted that the connecting door remain open.
After he had gone, Scully had proceeded mechanically through her
regular nighttime activities -- wash face; brush teeth and hair;
change into pajamas; set alarm for morning. But once ensconced
under the covers, she simply could not get her eyes to close.
Suddenly, every muscle twinge was the start of her collapse. Every
hitched breath was the beginning of her end. And every external
sound was an intruder, coming to take her away.
Irrational or not, the fear was real. And it would not let her
sleep.
But neither would it let her move. She was too afraid that she
would try to get up, only for her arms and legs to fail her. Or
that if she strayed more than a foot away from the unholstered gun
on her bedside table, some unknown person would swoop down and she
would be gone.
It wouldn't even let her think. Every time she tried to organize
the events of the past day, put it into some sort of order, work
through the facts and the theories and the possibilities, her mind
would seize up, stuck on the bee and its implications.
So she was left to stare at the clock, watching the night pass in
slow motion.
==========
Room 206
Holiday Inn Express
Columbus, GA
4:10 a.m.
Mulder couldn't sleep, which was nothing new -- but tonight even
the babble of a late movie on AMC or an infomercial on FX wasn't
enough to distract him from his thoughts.
God. What a nightmare. What a fucking nightmare. And he still
couldn't get it out of his thoughts; he still couldn't keep from
replaying the image in his mind: The bee nestled against Scully's
lower back, triggering the terror that had haunted him since the
previous summer, the terror that had finally after all these years
supplanted his feelings of loss and failure over Samantha.
The damned bee.
Scully.
He couldn't stop thinking about her.
He turned restlessly in bed, and tried to avoid looking at the
clock. If he looked at the clock he would just start obsessing on
that, counting the minutes until dawn. Counting the minutes until
he could see Scully again, and know that she was really okay.
His eyes fell on the dark shadow of the connecting door, left
standing open at his insistence. She was almost certainly asleep
by now; he hadn't heard anything from her room in at least an
hour, so she pretty much had to be.
He could probably go stand in the doorway without disturbing her.
He could stand there for just a moment, long enough to pick out
her sleeping form on the bed and reassure himself that she was
still there and still breathing. He didn't need to wake her. He
just needed to look at her.
He slipped quietly out of bed and felt around on the floor until
he found his jeans, pulling them on out of some sense of
propriety. Then he stepped over to the doorway.
It was, of course, even darker in her room than it was in his,
since she didn't have her television turned on. Mulder stood
patiently, waiting for his eyes to adapt, and slowly the objects
in the room started to take on definition: The dark cavern that
marked the bathroom door; the little tea table and two chairs by
the window; and finally, at long last, the nearer of the two beds,
and the rumpled roll of blankets that he knew must be his partner.
God, she was small. She was so tiny, and she looked so vulnerable.
He knew she wasn't, really; he knew she was tough and strong and
courageous. But just at that moment she looked very slight and
diminutive, as if she might be carried away from him on a light
breeze.
Again.
"You can come in if you want to."
Mulder jumped at the sound of her voice. Oh, god ... he'd woken her
up. Somehow, standing there in the doorway he'd managed to make a
sound or something and he'd woken her up.
He tried to say something, to formulate an apology for having
disturbed her sleep, but before he could get the words out she was
speaking again.
"It's okay, Mulder," she said, very softly. Her voice had a
distant, dreamy quality, a tone that sent a tingle down his spine.
"I couldn't sleep anyway. I've been lying here for the last half
hour or so wondering if you were still awake, and wishing you'd
come in to see me."
Mulder felt a sudden lump in his throat. Had she really said that?
Had Dana Scully really said that she'd wanted him to come to her?
He knew she didn't mean it in the way he wished she did, but even
this much was more than she'd ever given him before.
"Come on, Mulder," she said. "Sit with me for awhile?"
He could never refuse her anything she asked for in that tone of
voice, and so a few seconds later he was sitting down gingerly on
the edge of her bed as she slid over to make room for him.
The two kept their silence for several minutes, and Mulder just
concentrated on listening to her breathe. Slow, steady, breaths.
So purposeful and deliberate. So Scully. Everything about her was
so perfectly Scully.
But still there was the fear in the back of his mind, the fear of
the bee, the fear that she would suddenly collapse and be taken
from him again. He knew it was irrational; he knew that if she was
going to display symptoms from her sting they would have long
since manifested themselves. But he couldn't drive it from his
mind; he couldn't make the fear go away.
"Scully?" he whispered, wondering if maybe she'd finally dropped
off to sleep.
"Yeah, Mulder?" Her voice sounded low and rich, and definitely
wide awake, and again he felt a tingle run down his spine.
"Scully, can I see ..." He let his voice trail off; he felt like a
complete idiot for asking this, but it would help reassure him; he
was sure of it. And then maybe, finally, they'd both be able to
get some rest. Try again. "Can I see ... can I see the spot where
you were stung?"
She was silent for a moment, and for just an instant Mulder was
afraid he'd upset her. But then he felt her hand on his shoulder
and she was pulling herself to a sitting position, turning her
back to him and bending slightly at the waist.
For a timeless interval Mulder simply stared at her, and suddenly
he was having a flashback to that first case in Oregon. Only that
time she had been the one who was afraid; she had been the one
seeking reassurance.
He had given her that reassurance with two words: Mosquito bites.
And then she had flung herself into his arms in relief, and they'd
sat up half the night talking and getting to know each other. It
had been the first real turning point in their partnership; hell,
it had *established* their partnership, making it something real,
rather than just words on a piece of paper.
And Mulder had a sudden premonition that tonight, perhaps, would
be another turning point.
"Mulder?"
Her voice brought him back to the present, and he took a deep
breath, then reached out with a slightly shaking hand and gently
pulled up the tail of her pajama top.
For a moment all he could see was her skin, smooth and pale in the
darkness. He couldn't see the sting at all, and then he leaned a
little closer and there it was: A small, red lump, barely
noticeable even when you knew what to look for. He gently touched
it with his forefinger, then drew his hand away. It was so small,
so insignificant. It really was just a bee sting.
He was about to allow her clothing to fall back into place when he
noticed something else, and he leaned a little closer. There was a
scar there; a small scar in the shape of a ring, about three inches in
diameter. It looked fairly fresh, too, as if it had just recently
finished healing.
His brow creased in confusion for a moment ... and then he
realized what it was.
"I had it removed," she said quietly. Mulder glanced up from his
examination of his partner's lower back to see her looking back at
him over her shoulder.
He hastily dropped the shirt tail and straightened up. This was a
bad subject, a very bad subject, and he needed to distance himself
from it, fast. "S-sorry," he said. "None of my business."
Scully adjusted her clothes for a moment, then turned on the bed
until she was sitting crosslegged and facing him. "Actually," she
said, "it *is* your business, and it always has been."
The words hung between them for a long moment, while Mulder
struggled to find something to say. Finally he said, "Scully ...
you don't have to explain yourself --"
She raised her hand and gently pressed her fingertips against his
lips to silence him, sending a not-unwelcome thrill along his
skin. "No, I don't have to explain myself," she said. "But I want
to. I've wanted to ... to explain this to you for awhile now."
Her hand dropped back into her lap, and she seemed to study his
face for a moment. "I told you that not everything is about you,
and that's true enough," she finally said. "But that ... that
*was* about you, at least partly." She shook her head. "I had it
taken off because that was one of the stupider nights of my life,
and I finally decided I didn't want any souvenirs lying around."
"It must have hurt," Mulder said softly. "Having it removed, I
mean."
She nodded. "It did. But not as much as it would have hurt to
leave it in place." She hesitated, then went on, "Mulder, I'm not
bringing up a two-year-old incident just to rub salt in the
wounds -- for either of us. I'm trying to make a point, and the
point is that we both have a tendency to hurt each other. That was
one of the times I hurt you and ... and I'm sorry."
She fell silent for a moment, looking as if she wanted to say
more, and then she sighed and said simply "I'd like for us to make
a fresh start."
Mulder sighed as well, softly. "But I hurt you, too, Scully. If I
recall correctly I was a prize asshole that whole week."
She nodded soberly in agreement. "But that doesn't excuse what I
did," she said. "Returning hurt for hurt ... that's not a very
grownup thing to do."
For a few moments the two sat in silence again, while Mulder tried
to process everything she'd just said. He was more than slightly
stunned by Scully's blunt statements. This wasn't her usual
style -- hell, it wasn't *their* usual style. But for some reason,
tonight she was opening up to him in ways that she never had
before. He had to respond; he had to say something to let her know
how much he appreciated this.
And then in a flash he knew what it was he needed to say.
"Scully ... about El Rico ... and Diana ..." He heard his voice
trail off as he struggled to find the words. He dared to lift his
gaze and look at his partner, and found nothing but caring and
compassion in her eyes, and that gave him the strength to go on.
"Scully, I was wrong," he said, his voice firmer. "I should have
listened to you. I'm not saying I should have believed you without
question, but I should have listened instead of shutting you out.
My only excuse ... hell, I don't have an excuse. I was just
blinded by my need to have someone I could trust and depend on."
He reached out with more confidence than he truly felt and took
one of her hands in both of his. "And I was so blind and stupid
that I never realized she was standing right there next to me the
whole time."
He felt a sudden lump in his throat, and swallowed it down with
difficulty. "God, I'm so sorry, Scully. I'm so sorry I hurt you,
that time and all the other times. The last thing I ever want to
do is hurt you. If we can make a fresh start .... god, that would
be more than I have any right to ask or expect. But I'd like to
try."
Time seemed to stop, and all Mulder could see was his partner's
bright eyes cutting through the gloom, her gaze roaming across his
face. He felt himself being drawn into her eyes, he was losing
himself in them, drowning in them.
He was suddenly short of breath, and his heart was pounding in
his chest, and Scully was leaning slowly forward, her lips
slightly parted, and he found himself responding, moving to help
close the distance ...
And her cell phone rang.
Scully blinked in surprise, and for the second time that night
Mulder felt as if his heart was going to stop. For just a moment
longer they remained where they were, poised ... and then the
phone trilled a second time, and all the energy that had been
building between them seemed to vanish in an instant.
Scully reached out to grab the phone from the nightstand, punching
a button with her thumb.
"Scully." She paused for a moment and listened. "No, Andy, that's
fine; I wasn't asleep. What have you got?" This time the pause was
longer, and partway through he saw her eyes widen. Finally she
said, "Jesus. When --" Again she stopped, and then she was
nodding. "Okay, Andy. Okay. We'll see you then." And she punched
the disconnect.
"What is it, Scully?" Mulder asked urgently. "What's happened?"
She looked at him for a moment, and he felt a chill race through
his system as he recognized the shock and apprehension which had
so quickly and completely taken over her features. This was bad,
he knew. Very bad.
And when she spoke, his worst fears were confirmed.
"There's been another attack," she said, her voice flat and
emotionless. "In Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Last night. At another
ballpark. Seventy victims so far, and the count is still climbing."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "My God, Mulder. My God. Maybe
they're not just restocking. Maybe this is the kickoff for the
main event." She closed her eyes for a moment, and then she opened
them again and spoke the word, making it all real:
"Colonization."
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 6
==========
Room 204
Holiday Inn Express
Columbus, GA
5:14 a.m.
The partners simply sat and stared at each other for what seemed
like an eternity. Scully felt light-headed, uncertain whether it
was from the lack of sleep, the news they'd just received ... or
the scene the phone call interrupted.
She finally shook herself free of her inertia and reached over to
flick on the bedside light. She saw Mulder squint at the sudden
glare and muttered a quick "sorry" under her breath as she pushed
herself up off the bed.
She turned to face him again. "Andy wants to meet us for breakfast
at six, so I'm going to take a quick shower and get dressed," she
said. A fleeting image of inviting him to join her flashed into
her mind, almost making her jump in alarm, but she chalked it up
to her fatigue and went on. "We need to decide what to do about
this. One of us needs to go up there."
At that, Mulder's head jerked up, and one hand shot out to grab
hers. "I'm not leaving you, Scully," he said fiercely. His eyes
were wild and unfocused, and Scully's heart clenched in her chest.
She brought up her free hand to cover his. "It's okay, Mulder,"
she said soothingly, feeling his grip relax under her touch. "Let's
just get dressed and go talk to Andy, and we can work everything
out. It'll be fine."
After a long moment, Mulder nodded slowly, slipping his hand from
her arm. Scully gave his hand a final squeeze before releasing it,
then took a step back. "Out, G-man," she said lightly. "Go get
dressed. We've got a busy day ahead of us."
He shot her a half-smile as he rose to his feet, and she felt some
of the tension leave her body. He moved to step past her but then
paused and lifted one hand to run his palm down her arm from
shoulder to wrist. He leaned in until his breath brushed her ear,
and Scully had to forcefully suppress a shiver.
"Thanks, Scully," he whispered.
A second later, he was gone, and she let out a shuddering sigh.
Her senses were on overload, and the mix of too little rest and
too much emotion was nearly more than she could bear.
But she had to bear it, not only for her sake but for Mulder's as
well. She knew he was barely holding himself together -- hell,
without her around, he'd probably have lost it completely by
now -- and she could not, and would not, let him fall apart. She
needed him too much, and not just on this investigation. She just
needed him, period.
Maybe it was time she told him that.
Now, however, was not the time for those thoughts. Forcing her
mind to consider what their next move should be, she swung into
her automatic morning preparations, gathering up clothes and
toiletries and heading for the bathroom.
==========
Silver Dollar Diner
Columbus, GA
May 11, 1999
5:49 a.m.
Scully and Mulder settled in across from each other in one of the
many open booths. The diner was nearly deserted, as Andy said it
would likely be until around 6:30. She was to meet them at six,
but they'd left as soon as they were ready and had arrived early.
A middle-aged women with dry, bleached-blonde hair and entirely
too much eye makeup approached their table within seconds of their
arrival. Slipping silverware onto the table, she greeted them with
a friendly, "Mornin', y'all," then reached for the order pad in
the pocket of her apron. "What can I get ya?" she asked.
"Coffee," the partners answered in unison, then smiled at each
other. Scully added, "Make that three; we're meeting someone."
She glanced at Mulder, gauging his mental and physical condition
in a second, as she was so used to doing, and returned her
attention to the waitress. "And two large orange juices, and
I'll have raisin toast with butter, and ... Mulder? Two eggs over
easy, bacon, hashbrowns and toast okay?"
He shot her a mock-evil look, then looked at the waitress. "What
she said," he said, grinning.
The waitress nodded, still scribbling down the order, then glanced
at him. "It's grits, though, not hash browns. That okay?"
Scully could tell Mulder was trying not to wince. "Sure," he said,
giving another grin, this one much more hesitant.
The waitress smiled again and headed for the counter, and Scully
let out the chuckle she'd been trying to hold back. "And when's
the last time you had grits, Mulder?" she asked teasingly.
He shook his head with a wry smile. "Let's see, today's Tuesday,
that would be ... never?" he said.
Scully raised an eyebrow. "Well, you're in for a rare treat," she
said. "Just be sure to add plenty of butter and salt."
Mulder fixed her with an inquisitive look. "And when have *you*
had grits, Agent Scully?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Mom's family is from Virginia," she said. "I've had
them off and on all my life. Not my favorites, but they're okay,
as long as you never try to eat them plain."
Mulder leaned back in the booth, stretching one arm out along the
top of the seat. "So enlighten me," he said. "What do they taste
like?"
Scully leaned forward, her elbows on the edge of the table and her
hands folded. "Well, plain, they taste about like they look," she
said. "Like little broken-up bits of Styrofoam."
Mulder chuckled at that, and she went on. "So if you put enough
butter and salt on them, they taste like ... well, butter and
salt, but thicker." She paused, then grinned. "Kind of hard to
describe, actually."
Before Mulder could respond, the bell over the door rang as
someone entered, and the partners looked up to see Andy coming
toward them. Scully scooted over to make a place, and Andy slid
in beside her.
The waitress returned then, coffee and orange juice being served
in a flurry of activity -- Andy had already eaten -- and then they
turned to the matter at hand.
==========
6:04 a.m.
"The body count is up to 83," Andy said without preamble. Mulder
sat quietly in his seat and sipped at his orange juice as he
listened to the briefing. The reporter seemed poised, confident
and organized; the Marines had been fools to let her get away.
"I just got off the phone with a guy I went to school with who
works for one of the TV stations up there," Andy went on. "From
what he told me it sounds like a carbon copy of what happened down
here: mass swarming, dozens of casualties, the whole nine yards.
And now the victims have all disappeared, and no one seems to know
anything about it. It's almost as if it never happened."
"But surely the media reports --" Scully began.
Andy shook her head, cutting Scully off. "There are no media
reports. Seen the morning paper?" Both agents shook their heads.
"Nothing. Nada. I wrote a mid-length followup yesterday afternoon,
based on what we saw at Riverwalk. But my editor spiked it." She
smiled mirthlessly. "In fact, it's not even in the paper's computer
system anymore. Apparently it was accidentally erased. Or
something."
"Or something," Mulder agreed, glancing at his partner. "Scully,
we should have been expecting this, and it's just further evidence
that this could be the real thing. Control of the media in the
early stages would be essential to a successful operation."
"You got that right," Andy said grimly. "When I got home last
night there was a message on my machine ordering me -- not asking,
ordering -- to report to the office for an emergency conference. I
went in at two in the morning expecting to meet with Eddie, my
boss, but it turned out to be the publisher and his executive
assistant. It seems there's been pressure from the CDC to suppress
the story, 'in the public interest'."
Scully shook her head. "And the paper's putting up with that?"
Andy shrugged in apparent unconcern, but her words were bitter.
"This isn't the Washington Post. This is a smalltown newspaper on
a tight budget. The local Wal-Mart says 'shit', we squat and ask
them what color. And when it's the government ..." Her voice
trailed off, and she shrugged again.
For a moment or two there was silence in the booth, and Mulder was
uncomfortably aware that he and Scully were also part of "the
government". But Andy didn't seem to be directing any anger at
them, he reminded himself. Finally, he cleared his throat and
said, "Well, that still leaves us needing to decide on our next
move."
He took a deep breath and caught his partner's eye; he really
didn't want to get into this topic, but they had little choice.
"I think we should both go to Iowa," he said, as firmly and
decisively as he could manage. "There's nothing left here; the
cleanup crews have done too thorough a job. Andy will be here --"
Scully was already shaking her head. "No, Mulder. No way. I know
that I'm the one who usually complains about being left behind,
but this time it has to be done. There's still followup that needs
to be done in Georgia." She nodded at Andy, and continued, "With
the CDC, if nothing else. I know a couple of people there, and I
want to see if I can get any of them to open up."
Mulder tried to interrupt, but she hurried on before he had the
chance. "And one of us has *got* to get to Iowa, as soon as
possible. The trail is already getting cold; by tomorrow morning
there won't be anything left at all, if that operation is as well
organized as the one here has been."
Mulder knew she was right, and he knew in his heart that he was
going to lose this argument, but he had to give it one more try.
"I hear what you're saying, Scully," he said, trying to keep his
voice level and reasonable. "But dividing your forces in the face
of a superior enemy is never a good idea." He glanced at Andy.
"You were in the military; you tell her."
The reporter nodded slowly. "You're right of course; concentration
of force is one of the cardinal rules of planning a successful
engagement. That's one lesson they really drilled into us at OCS."
She paused and glanced at Scully, and then looked back at Mulder.
"But sometimes you have to do what you have to do. Desperate times
call for desperate measures, and all that."
Scully reached across the table and laid a hand on one of Mulder's.
"It'll be okay, Partner," she said. "It's only for a day or two,
and we can be in touch by cell phone as often as ... whenever we
need to be."
Now it was Mulder's turn to nod reluctantly. She was right, of
course, and he'd known it from the start. But that knowledge was
doing nothing to alleviate the ache of foreboding he felt in the
pit of his stomach. More than anything else he wanted to wrap his
arms around her and protect her and keep her safe, but that just
wasn't an option. If they were going to see this through they were
going to have to take some risks, and apparently splitting up at
this point was going to be one of those risks.
Finally he said, in a very low voice, "Okay, Scully. Okay. That's
the way we'll play it."
==========
Interstate 85
North of LaGrange, GA
7:44 a.m.
Mulder had prevailed on one point: Scully and Andy had relinquished
the driving to him, at least until they reached the airport. The
earliest flight he could realistically make was the 8:35 to Cedar
Rapids by way of Minneapolis, and even that was going to be
cutting it close. They'd had to stop back by the hotel to grab his
overnight bag, and they still had a solid half-hour to go to get
there.
His idea had worked, though, and both women were dozing now,
Scully in the seat next to him and Andy in the back. He'd
convinced them it was too early to start making calls, unless they
really *wanted* to tick people off, and he'd suggested they try to
sleep a little along the way.
The plan was for them to see him off at the airport -- not really
necessary, and he was mildly surprised when Scully didn't object
to the suggestion -- and then continue downtown to the Centers for
Disease Control and Prevention to see what they could find out.
Mulder would look up Andy's contact in Cedar Rapids when he
arrived and see what he could learn there. They'd check in mid-
afternoon via cell phone.
Mulder sighed softly in the silence of the car. He wasn't really
tired, after napping the evening before, and two and a half
cups of coffee had sent plenty of caffeine into his system to keep
him going. But the scenery was just the same as it had beeen the
day before, only in reverse, and he'd already memorized it the
first time. So despite his best intentions, his mind started
wandering into places he hadn't wanted to let it go.
He replayed the moment in Scully's room early that morning when
he'd realized she was going to kiss him -- or let him kiss her,
whichever. Her eyes were soft and glowing through the darkness as
she looked up at him; her lips, soft and inviting.
It was only the second time they'd come so close to resolving
this ... *thing* that had been hanging between them for so long.
Sure, they usually ignored it, sidestepped it, shoved it out of
the way. From time to time, he could almost believe it was gone
altogether, but then it would pop back up, usually at the most
inopportune moments. Like this morning.
Why was it only when they were in dire situations that their
mutual attraction surfaced? Why couldn't it come up when things
were relatively calm, when they might actually have a chance to
follow through without interruption?
Mulder sighed again, a bit more loudly, then froze and held the
next breath as Scully shifted in the passenger seat. He was afraid
he'd wakened her, but she settled back in a moment, and he relaxed
again.
But it was only a few minutes later when she shifted again, and
this time she lifted her head and dragged her eyes open.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 7
==========
7:58 a.m.
When she first came aware, she was disoriented for only a moment
before she realized where she was -- in the passenger seat of a
rental car, with Mulder behind the wheel. A warm, comfortable
feeling passed over her at the familiar circumstance, the product
of countless long car trips in his company.
She moved slowly, pushing herself upright, and ran a hand across
her mouth. "What time is it?" she rasped out, then cleared her
throat.
"Almost eight," Mulder replied, shooting her a glance. "Sleep
well?"
She nodded absently as she reached to flip down the sun visor,
checking her appearance in the mirror. She ran her fingers through
her hair to straighten it a bit, then decided that was the best
she was going to do and folded the shade back into place.
She could feel Mulder's eyes still on her, only flicking back to
the road every few seconds, and she turned to regard him. "Mulder,
what is it?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Nothing," he said. "Just ... I didn't wake you, did
I?"
She knew he had more than that on his mind, but she let it slide
for now. "No, I just woke up," she said, glancing out the
windshield at the steady flow of traffic. "Where are we, anyway?"
"About ten miles or so from the airport," Mulder replied, smoothly
changing lanes to pass a clump of slower-moving trucks. "I
shouldn't have any trouble making my flight."
"Good." The word ended on a yawn, and Scully saw Mulder frown.
"Are you going to be okay, Scully?" he asked, his tone cautious.
"You didn't get any sleep last night or much the night before ..."
"I'm fine, Mulder," Scully said automatically, only to see his
frown deepen. Realizing he never quite believed those words from
her mouth, she added, "I'm a little tired, but I'll be okay. If I
get too sleepy, I'll let Andy handle the driving. She's had at
least a little more sleep than either of us."
Mulder nodded, his eyes trained on the road as traffic continued
to increase. "How long do you think you'll be in Atlanta?" he
asked.
Scully shrugged. "The rest of today, at least, and we'll come
back tomorrow if we need to," she said. "I just talked to Cal
about three or four weeks ago and everything seemed to be fine,
so I'm hoping he'll be willing to at least talk to us, even if he
can't give us much information."
She didn't add her own calculations of the odds against her old
acquaintance providing anything useful, but she knew she didn't
have to. Mulder could certainly be pessimistic enough for the both
of them when he put his mind to it.
They fell silent for a few minutes, until Mulder pulled the car
into the exit lane for the airport. The deceleration roused Andy,
who yawned and stretched comically as she straightened in her
seat. "Are we there yet?" she mumbled, and Scully had to fight to
hold back a full-fledged grin.
"We're here," she answered, half-turning in her seat to face the
younger woman. She let the grin escape then, as she added in a
teasing tone, "Sleep well?"
"Yeah, just not long enough," Andy grumbled, still blinking slowly
against the bright sunshine.
Scully glanced at Mulder, who was steering the car into an hourly
parking deck by then, and saw he'd lost the battle against his own
smile. Turning back to Andy, she said, "We only have about thirty
minutes before Mulder's flight, so we'll have to hurry. You ready?"
Andy gave her a blank look. "I was just going to wait in the car,"
she said. "I thought ..." Her voice trailed off, and she glanced
at the back of Mulder's head. She leaned in closer to Scully and
whispered, "I thought you two would want a minute alone."
Scully's eyes widened, and then she felt herself blush. She should
be used to people mistaking Mulder and her for a couple, but now
she wasn't so sure it was a mistake any more. Or at least, she
wasn't sure it would be a mistake for much longer.
She managed to shake her head at Andy and whisper back, "It's not
like that." She saw Mulder turn his head in her direction then,
and she shifted back around in her seat, just as he swung the car
into a parking spot and shut down the engine.
"All right, ladies, we've got to move it," he said lightly, holding
out the keys to Scully. She took them, and the three climbed from
the car, Mulder pausing to grab his bag from the back seat.
They were inside in minutes, stopping only long enough to scan the
arrival/departure displays and determine that his flight was on
time. Security held them up a few moments. Andy had left her
weapon in the car, and Mulder had removed the clip from his and
pocketed it, the weapon slipped into his bag; a quick badge flip
was enough for him. Scully kept her weapon with her, which
necessitated a longer perusal of her ID, but she reassured the
guards that she was only going to the gate, not boarding, and they
finally waved her through.
The trio headed for the gate at a fast pace, down to twenty
minutes before flight time. Luckily, Mulder's gate was on the
first concourse, so they arrived quickly, and the boarding pass
only took a few moments.
As Mulder was finishing up at the counter, Andy tapped Scully on
the arm and said, "I've got to run to the ladies' room; I'll be
right back."
She was gone before Scully could reply, and Scully had a feeling
it wasn't just a call of nature that had prompted Andy's departure.
The reporter had been serious about giving them a minute alone,
and despite Scully's protest in the car, she was glad for it. Her
mind had been offering up a train of thought for the past few
hours that she'd been trying to avoid, but now she let it have
full rein.
She knew Mulder had been functioning at his peak over the past
24 hours or so only when he'd been able to focus on her for one
reason or another. Now he was going halfway across the country,
alone, and she was worried that he'd lose track again, and without
her there to pull him out of it, he'd end up in trouble.
Problem was, she didn't know what she could do about it.
Mulder was walking back toward her by then, dodging a few people
hurrying past to their own gates, and came to a stop in front of
her. "All set," he said, grinning down at her. "Five minutes to
spare."
Scully smiled in return, her mind racing at a mile a minute. An
idea had popped into her head, a way to send Mulder off with a
firm, unambiguous -- if intangible -- piece of her to carry with
him. She wasn't sure if this was the time or place, and she didn't
know how much it would actually help ... but she had to do
something.
Besides, she wanted to do it.
And so she lifted one hand to rest on the side of his face, drew
him down ... and grazed her lips softly, gently across his.
She felt him freeze under her touch, not responding or reacting in
any way for a long moment. She pulled back, suddenly uncertain
that the kiss had been a good idea, only to face the stunned
expression on Mulder's face.
His eyes were locked on hers as his mouth worked wordlessly for a
few seconds, and then he forced out, "Scully ... you kissed me."
Scully smiled, a little shakily, and replied, "Yep."
Another second passed, and then Mulder was a flash of motion,
scooping her up and pulling her tightly against him, one arm
around her waist, the other hand cupping her head. His words were
a whisper against her lips as he said, "I think we can do better
than that."
He kissed her then, still gently but with a greater sense of
urgency, and she fell into his kiss willingly, if briefly, before
drawing away.
His mouth followed her for a moment, but then he stilled, his eyes
opening to meet her gaze again. Her heart was pounding in her
chest, and she smoothed one hand across his hair. "I'm with you,
Mulder," she whispered. "Even when I'm not there."
He lowered her back to her feet, his eyes never leaving hers, and
his hands came up to frame her face gently. He bent to place a
tender kiss in the center of her forehead, then pulled her into
a gentle hug. "Be careful, Scully," he whispered into her hair.
"You, too," she answered.
They pulled apart reluctantly, their hands lingering as long as
possible, and Mulder kept watching her as he walked sideways
toward his gate. Scully's eyes followed him until, at the last
possible moment, he turned and stepped into the walkway to the
plane.
Scully had no idea how long she'd stood there, her eyes trained
on the spot where she'd last seen Mulder, when someone touched her
arm. She jumped and whirled to face Andy, who was looking at her
with an expression of concern. "Are you all right?" Andy asked.
Scully nodded quickly. "I'm fine," she said, although it was an
effort to steady her voice. "Let's ... let's get going."
And they headed back to the car.
==========
Delta Flight 954
Somewhere over Kentucky
8:33 a.m., Central Daylight Time
Mulder snapped his laptop shut in disgust. Despite having spent
the better part of an hour searching the Internet, he'd been
unable to find any useful information on the attack in Cedar
Rapids -- or, in fact, any information at all, beyond the short
synopsis they'd received from Andy early that morning.
He'd finally given up looking and sent e-mail to the Lone Gunmen,
asking them to see what they could dig up, especially concerning
military air traffic arriving at and departing from Columbus and
Cedar Rapids during the preceding 24 hours.
Almost as an afterthought he'd requested they do a background
check on Andy Baker. From everything he'd seen of her she seemed
completely genuine, but Mulder had been burned once too often to
take her totally at face value.
He'd hesitated to raise the issue with Scully, both because of the
obvious friendship that was blossoming between the two women, and
because his own track record on deciding who could and could not
be trusted left something to be desired. But now that he'd left
Scully alone with Andy, he couldn't help but worry a little, and
he hoped the Gunmen would be able to lay those fears to rest.
He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. Scully. She'd
certainly given him a lot to think about this morning. From the
almost surreal conversation in her motel room in the middle of the
night to that surprising, wonderful kiss at the airport, she'd
delivered one shock to his system after another. They were good
shocks -- definitely good shocks -- but it was still a little
overwhelming, and he knew it was going to take him some time to
digest it all.
He wondered if she realized just how much he'd come to depend on
her -- and just how much she had rocked his world in the last six
hours.
He caught himself sliding the tip of his forefinger along his lower
lip. That kiss ... that kiss had been ... spectacular. Mulder had
been kissed by other women whose intentions were more immediate
and practical, but none of them compared to the intensity of those
few seconds when he'd held Dana Scully in his arms at last. It
had been the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life to let go of
her and turn and walk away ...
But he'd done it, and now he felt filled with vitality and energy,
like a man who had been slowly bleeding to death and then been
given a lifesaving transfusion.
That was it, he thought, nodding slowly to himself. That was
exactly it. Scully had given him a transfusion, a new lease on
life, as corny as that might sound. She hadn't made things all
better, of course; that only happened on television. But for the
first time in at least a year -- for the first time since before
the X-files had been burned -- he found himself actually starting
to think proactively rather than reactively. The process was still
rather sluggish, since those mental muscles hadn't been used much
in the last few months, but he could feel his thoughts starting to
move in that direction.
It was wonderful. And it was all Scully's doing.
Scully. He wondered what she was doing right now. She and Andy
had planned to drive on into Atlanta, and try to pry some
information out of an old friend of his partner's who worked at
the CDC. In all honesty Mulder didn't expect that lead to amount
to much, but he'd agreed with the two women that it made sense to
try.
Mulder opened his eyes and glanced at his watch. Four more hours
and he'd be on the ground in Iowa, and he still didn't have
anything much to go on when he got there.
With a sigh of reluctance, he pushed thoughts of his partner out
of his mind and opened his laptop again. He'd have plenty of time
to think about her later; right now he still had work to do.
==========
Interstate 75/85 (Downtown Connector)
Atlanta, GA
9:55 a.m., Eastern Daylight Time
Neither Scully or Andy said more than two words at a time for a
good twenty minutes after leaving the airport, only speaking to
check directions and traffic. As she drove, Scully could almost
hear the gears turning in the other woman's mind. She knew the
question was coming.
And then it did.
"It's not like that, huh?"
Andy's voice was even and calm, with only a slightly teasing tone
to it. Just the right tone to get the answer she wanted, Scully
thought. She should have been a lawyer instead of a reporter.
Scully sighed. She knew she should answer the question. Heck, for
once, she *wanted* to talk about it. Problem was, anything she
said would sound either trite or misleading, or both.
It's *not* like that.
It's complicated ...
Mulder and I don't ...
In the passenger seat, Andy chuckled softly. "Damned if you do ..."
she said.
Scully had to smile at that. "Pretty much," she said, shooting a
quick glance at the other woman. "I didn't lie to you, Andy. It
isn't ... well, *wasn't* 'like that.'" She paused, then plunged
ahead. "That was the first time we even kissed."
Andy stared at her. "Really?" she asked, her excited tone making
her sound like a teenager.
Scully nodded slowly. "We started to, one other time ... well,
twice, actually ... but we were interrupted both times," she said.
Then she grinned. "So I decided it was time to take matters into
my own hands."
Andy laughed out loud then, and Scully felt her grin widen. It
felt good, she realized, to have a conversation like this. Really
good, and not just because of the subject matter. She couldn't
remember the last time she'd enjoyed talking to someone like she
enjoyed talking to Andy.
And then her smile faded. Andy, whom she'd only met the day before.
Who had a lot of information about whatever was going on. Who now
knew a good portion of what she and Mulder had learned.
Suddenly, Scully wasn't enjoying herself quite so much.
"Dana?" Andy had stopped laughing, and her voice was low and
concerned. "Are you okay?"
Scully shook herself free from her paranoid thoughts. I really
*have* been around Mulder too long, she thought.
Out loud, she said, "I'm fine, Andy. Just drifted for a minute."
She shot the other woman a quick half-grin. "I guess I'm a little
distracted."
Andy laughed softly. "Wonder why? ..." she said, her voice
trailing off suggestively, and Scully had to laugh herself.
Andy sobered quickly, though, and turned slightly toward Scully.
"So who is this guy we're going to see? Someone from medical
school?"
"No, undergrad, actually; we had some classes together," Scully
replied, her mind drawing up an image of Cal Danielson -- short,
stocky, ugly as a hound dog, and one of the funniest and most
outgoing people she'd ever known.
"How long has he been with the CDC?"
Scully shrugged. "About three years, I think," she said. "He
started medical school, hated it, and switched over to
pharmacology, so it took him a couple of extra years to finish
up his doctorate." She chewed on the inside of her lower lip,
thinking for a moment, then said, "I talked to him about a month
ago, just a social call, really. He looked up my e-mail address a
year or so ago and we e-mail back and forth occasionally."
Andy nodded. "And you called him yesterday?"
Scully blinked, and realized yes, it was just yesterday, less
than 24 hours before, when she'd called Cal from the car on the
way to Columbus. A yesterday that now seemed at least several
lifetimes ago.
She sighed. "I called, but he was in the middle of something and
couldn't talk. I told him I'd call him back ..." Her voice trailed
off, and she glanced at Andy. "Which I guess I should do, if I'm
just going to show up there. Could you get my briefcase out of
the back seat? My phone is in the outside pocket, and there should
be a small address book there, too. His number is in there. Oh,
and I should probably call and make a car rental reservation for
Mulder; he'll probably forget all about it until he arrives, and
then God knows what he'll wind up with. He's not good with
paperwork."
Andy unbuckled her seat belt and twisted in the seat to retrieve
the briefcase, then dug out the phone and address book. She'd
barely settled back in when Scully slammed on the brakes, sending
them both hurtling forward until the shoulder harnesses caught.
"What the hell?" Scully exclaimed. Traffic had stopped dead, all
five lanes, and as she looked further ahead, all she could see
was taillights.
"Shit." Andy's voice was sharp, and she reached for the radio
dial. "Atlanta traffic strikes again. Let's see what we're in
for."
Scully sighed and picked up the phone, using the temporary
reprieve from driving to call the CDC. She ended up with Cal's
voice mail and left a quick message, telling him she was stuck
in traffic but would get there as soon as possible.
And then they settled back to wait for the road to clear.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 8
==========
Eastern Iowa Regional Airport
Cedar Rapids, IA
12:27 p.m., CDT
Mulder had actually fallen asleep on the short hop from
Minneapolis to Cedar Rapids, and so he was one of the last
passengers off the plane. He stood just outside the exit walkway
for a moment or two, blinking sleep out of his eyes and trying to
get his bearings. Finally he spotted a sign directing him to the
main terminal and headed off in that direction.
A few minutes later he was handing his Amex card to the pretty
young woman behind the Avis counter. She glanced down at the
card, then looked back up at him and smiled.
"Mr. Mulder!" she said, pulling a small sheaf of papers from under
the counter. "We've been expecting you."
Mulder raised his eyebrows at her. "You have?" He'd completely
forgotten to call ahead and book a car; logistics like that just
didn't come naturally to him, and he'd come to depend on Scully ...
He broke off the thought and smiled. "Oh, of course."
The young woman gave a knowing smile, and said, "I have to say,
*somebody* is sure looking out for you, Mr. Mulder." She shoved
one of the papers across the counter at him. "Prepaid and
everything."
Mulder continued to smile as he bent to sign the rental agreement
she'd put in front of him, and then he froze as he heard a voice
coming from behind him. A familiar voice.
"Yeah, somebody's always looking out for you, aren't they,
Mulder?"
Mulder closed his eyes for just a moment and waited for his
breathing to steady. His weapon was still in his carry-on, of
course, and the ammunition clip was in his pocket. The other man
was no doubt armed -- or at least, Mulder would have to act on
that assumption. Which meant he was going to have to do his best
to stay calm. Calm.
He opened his eyes, and with slow deliberation he straightened up,
casting what he hoped was a reassuring smile at the clerk, then
turned to face the man who had spoken.
"Krycek," he said. "Fancy meeting you here. Such a pity you
missed the weenie roast at El Rico. I'm sure you would have been
the biggest weenie there."
"I dunno, Mulder," the other man replied, a slight smirk on his
face. "There were some pretty big weenies in attendance, from what
I heard." He took a step closer and lightly fingered Mulder's
necktie for a second. "Nice tie."
"I wore it just for you." Mulder gave Krycek a hard shove, hard
enough to make the other man stumble back a couple of steps. He
then advanced after him, getting back into Krycek's personal space
and pressing his momentary advantage.
"Do you have a reason for being here, asshole?" he asked, giving
the man another shove. "Because I'm sure there are some Marshals
at the Federal courthouse downtown who would love to have a chat
with you." And he advanced again and gave his opponent still
another shove.
This time Krycek stood his ground, and even shoved back. "Sure,
Mulder," he said. "Why don't we do just that. Nothing I'd like
better than to spend the afternoon talking to a bunch of cops."
He gave another shove, and this time Mulder was forced back a step
or two. "Or we could just stay here and have a circle jerk." One
more shove, and Krycek smirked. "Of course, then you never would
find out what I came here to tell you."
Mulder stood perfectly still for a moment, muscles tensed and
breathing hard. He wanted nothing more than to mop the floor with
Krycek's face, but unfortunately the man was a potential source of
information, and Mulder didn't exactly have leads coming out of
his ears.
Krycek must have read the changing emotions on Mulder's face,
because he smirked again and said, "All right then. Let's get the
fuck out of here; I'm hungry." And he brushed by Mulder and headed
for the exit.
==========
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention
Atlanta, GA
1:30 p.m. EDT
Scully stared at the receptionist, stunned. "Excuse me?" she
asked, not at all sure she'd heard correctly. Tired, hungry, and
down to her last nerve after sitting in traffic for over two
hours, thanks to what turned out to be a nasty tractor-trailer
wreck, Scully did not want her hearing to be right. But it seemed
it was.
"I'm sorry," the woman repeated, with exaggerated patience. "But
there is no one by that name in these offices."
"But I talked to him yesterday," Scully insisted, fighting the
urge to shove her badge and/or gun in the woman's face. She had
been hoping to speak with Cal as quietly as possible, and flashing
her FBI ID wouldn't exactly be conducive to keeping a low profile.
But this woman was telling her that no Cal Danielson worked at
the center, and none ever had.
Scully didn't know what to think. Obviously, someone was hiding
something, whether it was Cal, the CDC, or some unknown person or
persons who did not want her to talk to Cal.
Andy shifted behind her, and Scully started to turn her head to
shoot the other woman a glance ... and saw a man watching them.
He was nothing noteworthy, really -- standard suit and tie, no
particular malice in his expression, no obvious look away when
Scully spotted him. He merely continued to look in her direction
a second or two longer before his eyes moved on, as if he was
simply scanning the lobby, almost idly.
But the skin all over Scully's body prickled in warning.
Keeping half an eye on the man, she turned calmly back to the
receptionist. "I'm sorry," she said, as evenly as she could. "I
must have my information wrong. Sorry to have bothered you."
She ignored the receptionist's final words and swiveled carefully
to face the door, catching Andy's gaze before flicking her eyes
toward the door.
The two women started across the wide lobby silently, though
Scully could practically feel the waves of confusion coming from
Andy, maybe mixed with a little fear. She didn't blame her; she
was experiencing the same thing.
In a conversational tone, Scully said, "So since we're here, why
don't we try that new place downtown for lunch?"
She was relieved when Andy picked up the cue immediately. "Sure,
I've heard it's really good," the reporter said, sounding
completely normal.
They kept up the idle chatter until they were back in the car,
but as soon as Scully pulled out into traffic, Andy was all
business.
"What was that guy?" she asked, her voice tense. "I saw him right
after you did."
"I don't know," Scully replied tightly, her eyes glued to the
road. "But I don't think he was just there for security."
Andy nodded. "He was there for us."
It wasn't a question, but Scully nodded once in confirmation. "Or
for me, possibly me and Mulder," she said. "Seeing you with me
may have thrown them a bit. They probably didn't expect that."
Scully paused as a brief dizzy spell washed over her, and she
shook her head lightly. She blinked several times, then focused
her eyes on the dashboard clock. Nearly two, and they hadn't
eaten since six. Hunger, combined with the aftermath of the
adrenalin rush from a few minutes earlier, she determined,
flicking on the turn signal and heading across traffic toward the
next fast-food restaurant she saw.
"Where are we going?" Andy asked.
Scully flashed her a half-grin as she pulled into the Arby's
parking lot. "Looks like that new restaurant will just have to
wait for the next trip."
==========
Northbound on Interstate 380
Cedar Rapids, IA
12:45 p.m., CDT
"Crown Victoria, Mulder? You really are moving up in the world."
"I've got frequent flyer miles coming out the wazoo," Mulder
replied, not bothering to keep the contempt from his voice. He
glanced briefly at Krycek, who was sitting in the passenger seat
and running his hand over the upholstery, then looked back at the
traffic. "Now you got something to say, say it."
Krycek chuckled. "You've always been so impulsive, Spooky."
Mulder gritted his teeth; he was determined not to let this man
get his goat. "Where're we going, anyway? I thought I told you I
was hungry."
"You can get out of the car anytime you want to," Mulder said,
pushing down on the accelerator just a little harder for emphasis.
"Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."
"You're going to see Amos Harter, aren't you?" Mulder glanced at
the other man in surprise; Krycek nodded. "Amos Harter, cameraman
for KFXA and friend of Andrea Baker." He looked at Mulder
sideways. "Want me to tell you the license and engine block number
on the car Agent Scully's driving?"
Mulder tightened his grip on the steering wheel, willing his
breathing to stay steady and even, and looked back to the front.
"Do you have a point, Krycek? Or are you just here to fuck with
my head?"
Again the other man chuckled. "Oh, I have a point -- fucking with
your head is just a fringe benefit." He fell silent, and after a
moment Mulder glanced over at him again, to see that his features
had turned grim and a little introspective.
At last Krycek sighed. Very softly, he said, "This is the real
deal, Mulder."
The agent felt a prickle run down his spine. "What do you mean?"
Krycek shook his head. "Don't play stupid, Mulder. You know what
I mean, and we don't have time for this. The Date is here.
Colonization is about to begin. The operations in Georgia and
here in Iowa were the final dress rehearsals, and everything went
just fine. Trust me on this. Final preparations are underway as
we speak." He waved his hand so as to encompass roughly half the
city. "None of these people will be alive a month from now."
Mulder struggled to contain himself, fighting off both anger at
Krycek and the despair which had been hovering over him like a
cloud ever since El Rico. He had to stay focused; he had to
concentrate, for Scully's sake if for no other reason.
His voice carefully controlled, Mulder asked, "So why are you
sharing all this with me, Krycek? You expect *me* to do something
about it? These are your friends, not mine."
The other man laughed. "Hell, no!" he said. "The ball's already
in play; it's much too late for anyone to do anything to stop it,
even if that's what I wanted, which I don't. No, I'm here at the
request of a mutual friend. Someone who wanted to deliver a
message to you. But he was afraid he might not be well-received
if he tried to deliver it in person."
Mulder snorted. "So he sent you instead? *That* sure shows a high
level approach."
"Yeah, they're learning to think outside the box," Krycek replied.
"Look, Mulder, this is no joke. I know we've had our differences,
but this is real. In the next 30 days more than five billion
people are going to die, and there's nothing you or anyone else
can do to stop it. The last train is about to leave the station,
and a certain old man wanted to give you one more chance to get on
board."
Krycek hesitated, as if he were suddenly unsure of himself.
Finally he added, "Look, she wants you to come along, too."
Mulder offered Krycek another brief look, and then refocused on
the road and shook his head. "Not interested," he said in a flat
voice.
Krycek shrugged. "I told them that's what you'd say." He glanced
out the window. "Just pull over anywhere along here and let me
out."
Mulder was silent for a moment as he maneuvered the car through
traffic and over into the breakdown lane, finally pulling to a
halt a few hundred feet short of the next exit ramp. It occurred
to him that he shouldn't just be turning this man loose again, but
it hardly seemed to matter anymore.
He turned to Krycek curiously, and said, "Is that it? That's
everything you came to tell me?"
The other man shrugged again. "It wasn't my message, Spooky. I
promised to deliver it, but I never said I'd make much effort to
sell it to you." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a slip
of paper. "You remember the old Batman TV show? Adam West? Burt
Ward?"
Mulder nodded, trying to hide his confusion at the sudden turn in
the conversation. "Yeah, I remember."
Krycek grabbed Mulder's hand and pressed the slip of paper into
it. "Just think of me as the Riddler," he said with a smirk, then
leaned forward and whispered in Mulder's ear, "Betcha wanna find
'em."
Before Mulder could react, Krycek had stepped out of the car and
was gone.
==========
Arby's
Atlanta, GA
2:03 p.m. EDT
Scully and Andy spent their lunch break poring over a city map,
trying to find an alternate route back through town. Radio reports
said traffic was still awful because of that morning's wreck, and
they both wanted to get back to Columbus as soon as possible.
There might not be many leads left to follow up there, but there
didn't seem to be any at all here in Atlanta.
Directory assistance no longer had a home listing for Cal
Danielson, and Scully suspected that his existence had been
quickly and ruthlessly expunged. She intended to check further,
but past experience with such matters did not leave her feeling
hopeful. She couldn't help wondering if Cal was even still alive.
On top of that, the presence of the man at the CDC had shocked her
into realizing that someone was most likely always watching, and
she didn't like the idea of any of her or Mulder's things lying
unguarded in a hotel room. She knew they hadn't left anything of
significance there, just some clothes and toiletries, but she
wasn't taking any chances.
The two women were back in the car a half-hour after stopping,
and Scully followed the route they'd picked, taking Candler Road
south toward Decatur. The route would, eventually, take them back
to I-285, the perimeter interstate circling the city.
Andy was quiet as they drove, and Scully glanced over to see the
younger woman's eyelids drooping. Scully actually didn't feel
tired at all, and she said, "Go ahead and nap if you can, Andy;
I'm doing fine."
Andy's head jerked up, and then she grinned. "Sorry, Dana," she
said. "Too many late nights in a row."
Scully shook her head, smiling. "Believe me, I know the feeling,"
she said dryly. "But I'm wide awake, so sleep while you can. I may
need you to drive later."
Andy nodded. "It's a deal," she said, then let out a massive yawn
that obviously surprised her. "Geez, guess I'm more tired than I
thought," she said, laughing, and then she leaned back in the
seat and closed her eyes.
Scully watched the scenery pass as she drove, noting that the
traffic lightened significantly once they passed Decatur. She
watched with a smile as a line of at least a dozen various sport
utility vehicles passed in the opposite direction. The things
were obviously *the* status symbol for Atlanta drivers; they
were everywhere.
Her amusement died, however, when she glanced in the rear view
mirror and saw the black sedan roaring up behind her, and she
barely had time to brace herself before it hit.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 9
==========
2:40 p.m. EDT
The first impact jolted Andy out of her light sleep and nearly
out of her seat. "What the hell?" she barked, twisting to look
behind them.
Scully didn't even try to answer, concentrating on keeping the
car on the road. She gunned the engine, pulling further ahead of
the other car, but the other driver followed suit, slamming into
the rental with more force this time.
"Shit!" Andy spat out, bracing one hand on the dashboard and
leaning forward to snap the glove compartment open with her free
hand. She'd stowed her weapon there as soon as they'd gotten back
in the car, and now she pulled it out.
"Keep that out of sight," Scully said, risking a glance at Andy.
"If they don't know who you are, they're not likely to suspect
you'd be armed. Better we don't let them know until we need to;
we might need the element of surprise. And call 911."
Andy nodded and slipped the gun under her leg, keeping her hand
on it. "Where's your weapon?" she asked as she reached for her
cell phone with her free hand.
"Holster," Scully answered, jerking her head back and down to
indicate her right hip.
Andy immediately dropped her phone in her lap, then reached over
and shoved Scully's jacket aside, yanking the weapon loose and
slapping it down on the seat between them. Then she went back to
the phone and punched in the three digits while she asked, "Where
the hell are we, anyway?"
"Uh, Candler Road, south of Decatur," Scully said.
Andy nodded, turning her attention back to the call, where
someone had apparently just answered. "I have an officer in need
of assistance," she said, starting with a phrase sure to perk up
some attention at dispatch. "Someone's trying to run us off the
road on Candler Road, south of Decatur. I'm the passenger, the
driver is an FBI agent, and the car that's hitting us is an
unmarked black sedan with tinted windows." She paused, then
glanced around outside and said, "Uh, we just passed McAfee, I
think."
The car behind hit them again, more of a nudge this time, and
Scully ground her teeth together as she slammed the gas again.
"I'm gonna have to pull over," she said, eyeing the road ahead
for a likely spot.
"Hold on," Andy said into the phone, then pulled it away to speak
to Scully. "She says there's a police precinct on Candler, a
little further down."
"How far?" Scully barked out as the sedan bumped them again. "I
can't face off with them forever."
Andy's eyes were scanning the road as she spoke to the 911
dispatcher again. "2357 Candler Road, it'll be on the right,
thank God," she said. She paused again, then shouted "There!"
and pointed.
Scully's eyes darted from the road long enough to register the
brick building with at least a dozen police cruisers in the
parking lot. She waited until the last possible second before
yanking the wheel hard, almost sliding the car sideways into the
lot.
They came sliding to a stop just feet from the nearest cruiser,
and Scully finally released her attention from her driving long
enough to look back toward the road. The black sedan had slammed
on its brakes when she'd made her frantic swerve from the road,
but they apparently realized what the building was, and the car
accelerated suddenly and was gone.
She could hear Andy still talking into the cell phone as she
straightened the car out and pulled into a parking space, keeping
one eye on the road all the time. Once the car was in place and
the engine off, she reached for her weapon, still on the seat
beside her, and tucked it back into its holster.
Andy ended her call and turned sideways in the seat. "So, any
idea what *that* was all about?" she asked, the blunt wording of
the question belied by the slight waver in her voice.
Scully closed her eyes and sighed. "Same shit, different day,"
she said shortly, popping open her seat belt and climbing out
of the car to inspect the damage to the rental.
==========
Studios of KFXA-TV
Cedar Rapids, IA
1:42 p.m., CDT
Amos Harter was dead.
Mulder sat quietly in his car in the parking lot of the TV
station, trying to absorb that simple fact: Amos Harter was dead.
He'd died early that morning when his car had crashed through the
guardrail of U.S. Highway 30 -- a stretch of highway the cameraman
had driven every day for the past seven years. A stretch where he
must surely have been fully aware that the output of a nearby corn
sweetener plant occasionally caused a nearly-impenetrable fog to
blanket the road.
An accident, the receptionist at the TV station had called it. A
terrible tragedy, the general manager had said. Another statistic,
judging by the bored voice of the highway patrol officer Mulder
had spoken to on his cell phone.
A damned fucking convenient statistic, Mulder thought. A statistic
which had also resulted in the mysterious disappearance of all of
Harter's work materials from the TV studio.
The general manager had shrugged it off: The techies were always a
little buggy, he'd remarked. Harter had his own extensive video
editing equipment at home, and he'd been known to take work home
with him from time to time. His tapes and notes must have been in
the car with him, and the police said it was nothing but a burned-
out shell.
No, the reporter who had teamed with Harter to cover the bee
attack wasn't available; she was in Des Moines for an interview
with the new governor. She should have called in by now, but the
interview must be running long. Politicians were like that; they
loved to talk about themselves.
Mulder wondered grimly whether that phone call would ever come.
The upshot of all of this was that he had no further leads. Oh, he
could -- and probably should -- drive over to the ballpark where
the attack had occurred and check the grounds. But he knew without
bothering to look that he wouldn't find anything. This entire
operation had clearly been professionally planned and smoothly
executed, just like the one in Georgia.
Just like the one in Georgia.
For just a moment he wondered idly if Krycek wasn't right, after
all. Perhaps it was time to give up and just try to save himself
and those he cared about. The one person he cared about, he
corrected in his mind. If he could just find a way to save Scully,
the rest of the world could go fuck itself with his blessing.
Except that Scully wouldn't like that -- and truth be told, he
didn't really like it, either. He didn't like the person he would
have to become in order to do that; he'd come close, so close, a
few months before, and he still hadn't gotten over that. He
doubted he'd be able to live with that person very long, and
although Mulder didn't really expect to miss himself when the
darkness finally claimed him, he clung to the knowledge that
Scully, at least, would grieve, and be hurt, and that was
unacceptable.
All of which meant that he needed to focus his attention back on
the investigation, no matter how hopeless and futile it might
seem. Scully would expect it of him, and his need for her approval
and good opinion was really the one motivator he had at this
point.
Unfortunately, the only real lead he had left was the slip of
paper Krycek had given him.
Mulder hadn't looked at the paper yet. He suspected it just
contained some clue or other, perhaps an address or a phone
number, which would allow him to locate Diana Fowley and C.G.B.
Spender -- or whatever the hell his name really was -- just in
case he should change his mind. He hadn't looked at the note
because he hadn't wanted to be tempted -- but he hadn't been able
to make himself throw it away, either, and now it nestled in his
pocket like a snake, coiled and ready to strike.
Against his will, he found his thoughts flying back to that final
night in Diana's apartment. He had deliberately stayed away from
her place since she'd returned from Europe, because he knew what
an emotional risk he'd be taking with himself if he allowed
himself entry into her personal space after so many years of
absence. And also, deep in his heart, he'd known that the warnings
Scully had been trying to give him contained more than a kernel of
truth, even if he hadn't been quite ready to face the reality of
it.
Circumstances had finally forced his hand, however, as the rapidly
escalating events concerning Cassandra Spender had joined with
Scully's ultimatum to point an unmistakable finger of guilt at
his former lover. Just this once, though, Mulder had felt a need
for hard, unambiguous evidence before reaching his final
conclusions.
And so he'd gone to Diana's apartment, hoping to exonerate her,
but knowing deep inside that he was far more likely to convict
her beyond redemption. As he had feared, back in the dark corner
of his mind where he really lived, that visit had almost been his
undoing.
Mulder shook his head sharply, forcing the memories away. That was
the past; that was history. *Diana* was the past -- an important
part of the past, no doubt, but the past, nonetheless. Scully was
the future, and for just a moment he once again traced the line of
his lower lip with his forefinger. Scully was the future, and he
had to remember that.
No matter how brief and painful that future might be.
With a sigh of resignation he reached into his pocket, pulled out
the slip of paper Krycek had given him and unfolded it. For just a
moment he stared at the handful of words scrawled there, and then
he started to laugh.
That son of a bitch. He should have realized it wouldn't be
anything as simple and easy as a phone number.
"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Gordon Lightfoot have this in
common. And remember, your response must be in the form of a
question!"
He was still shaking his head ruefully when his cell phone rang.
============
South DeKalb Police Precinct
Decatur, GA
3:12 p.m.
Scully squinted against the late-afternoon sun as she stood just
outside the door of the police station, her cell phone pressed to
her ear. She could see Andy standing at the counter inside, filing
a report with the desk sergeant on the bumping incident, though
both women doubted the record would exist by tomorrow.
The connection took a few moments to go through, but the phone
rang just once before it was answered: "Mulder."
"Mulder, it's me," Scully said automatically, leaning tiredly
against the brick wall next to the door. "Where are you?"
"Lovely downtown Cedar Rapids, outside the studios of KFXA-TV," he
replied. "And take a guess at what I found?"
Scully raised an eyebrow. "Well, if your day has gone like ours, I
doubt it's good news," she said.
"Tell the nice lady what she's won," Mulder intoned. "To start
with, our contact no longer walks this mortal coil."
Scully snapped to attention. "Amos Harter?"
"Dead," Mulder confirmed. "Killed in a traffic accident this
morning on the way to work. And the reporter who covered the story
with him is late calling in from an assignment in Des Moines."
Scully sighed and lifted her free hand to rub her forehead. "That
story sounds too familiar," she said, turning slightly to glance
back inside at Andy's back. "Cal Danielson has disappeared. His
phone's been disconnected, and the reception desk at the CDC
insists no one by that name has ever worked there, even though I
left a message on his voice mail this morning."
"This sounds entirely *too* familiar, Scully," Mulder said, and
Scully could hear the sounds of his car's engine starting up as he
continued talking. "Listen, there's more I need to tell you, but I
don't want to do it over the phone. We need to meet somewhere as
soon as we can."
"Not here," Scully responded immediately. "I don't want to get
into it either, but as soon as we're finished where we are, Andy
and I are going back to Columbus to clean out our motel rooms. I
can get down there and back to the airport by ..." -- she paused
to check her watch -- "... by about 7:30 or 8, so I'll call the
airlines to see what's available and give you a call back."
"Sounds good," Mulder said. "I'm going to head to Chicago, and
that may be our best bet, so see if you can get a flight there.
I'll call and check on flights leaving from there, too, in case we
need to go somewhere else. There's not much to choose from here,
but it'll only take about four hours to get over to Chicago. And
right now, I'd rather have a big crowd around me."
Scully smiled at that. "Definitely," she said, her voice softening.
There was a moment of awkward silence between them, and Scully
tried to think of something to say to dispel it. But Mulder beat
her to the punch.
"Scully?" His voice was gentle but a little ragged. "I ... take
care of yourself ..." His voice trailed off hesitantly, as if he
wanted to say more but wasn't sure it would be well-received.
Scully could hear her heartbeat pounding in her head and forced
herself to take a deep, steadying breath. She was trembling, she
realized, and she wasn't entirely sure if it was a result of the
fading adrenalin rush, or of Mulder's words. She'd rarely heard
him sound so unsure of himself, and she said a quick prayer of
thanks that she hadn't yet told him of their run-in with the MIBs.
He didn't need anything else to worry about right now.
She swallowed and opened her mouth to answer him, but it took
a second for the words to come. "I ... I will, Mulder," she
managed. "You, too."
"Talk to you in a bit," he said, sounding more like himself, and
then the connection was broken.
Scully ended the call on her phone, then leaned against the wall
again, not entirely sure her legs were going to hold her up. She
closed her eyes and forced herself to take deep, regular breaths,
slowly calming her body's autonomic reactions.
She felt much stronger when Andy reemerged from the building a
few minutes later, and Scully turned to face her.
"Finished, for all the good it'll probably do," Andy said, then
stopped as she got a better look at Scully's face. "Hey, Dana,
are you all right?" she asked, reaching out to lay a hand on
Scully's arm.
Scully nodded briskly. "I'm fine," she said, shooting a quick
smile. "I talked to Mulder, and we're going to try to meet up
tonight, probably in Chicago. He's going to head that way, and I'm
going to see if I can get a flight up there tonight." She turned
toward the car, Andy following, and continued speaking. "We can
head back to Columbus so I can get our things, and I can call the
airlines from the car."
"Sounds like a plan," Andy said with a grin as the two women
climbed into their slightly-battered car.
===========
Studios of KFXA-TV
Cedar Rapids, IA
2:19 p.m. CDT
Mulder sat staring at his cell phone for several minutes after the
conversation with Scully had ended. The call had not gone at all
the way he had expected.
To be fair, he wasn't entirely sure what he *had* been expecting.
His partner's words had been crisp, businesslike...and brief.
Just as her words always were on the telephone. Just as *his*
words always were.
That was the real problem, of course: Nothing had changed. Nothing
had been different. Again, Mulder wasn't exactly sure what could
have or should have been different; nevertheless, he felt a
certain lack of ... something. An incompleteness. It was almost as
if the scene at the airport that morning hadn't happened -- or
that if it had happened, they were both choosing not to
acknowledge or validate it.
He sighed and as he had on the plane that morning he pushed the
topic from his mind. He didn't have time for this; not now.
Worrying about it would only serve as a distraction from the
things that needed to be done. He would see Scully again soon
enough, and then maybe they could sort things out.
Maybe.
He glanced at his watch: Almost 2:30. He just had time to check
out the ballpark and still make it to O'Hare by a reasonable hour.
Scully had said she expected to be back to the Atlanta airport by
eight or so; assuming she could get a flight, and allowing for the
time difference, that would put her on the ground in Chicago by
9:30 or ten. If he hurried, he could just about make it.
=========
Interstate 185 South
Near Columbus, Georgia
4:02 p.m. EDT
The argument started before the car cleared the Atlanta metro area
and continued for quite some time. Since Scully was still driving,
Andy made the calls to the airlines. And before Scully realized
what was happening, Andy had reserved not one, but two tickets on
the 8:30 flight to Chicago.
Scully was not happy. It wasn't a matter of trusting Andy; despite
her early qualms, Scully was as sure as she could be without
extensive background checks that the reporter was completely on
the up-and-up.
It wasn't Andy's role as a reporter, either. Scully had spent
enough time around Marines while growing up to know that they took
their oath of service very seriously, and she believed Andy could
be trusted to keep the secrets that needed to be kept.
But the fact remained that Scully was a federal agent, and she did
not feel she had the right to bring anyone, even a reserve Marine,
into an ongoing investigation -- especially one as dangerous as
this one had already proven itself to be.
Sighing, she tried again. "It's not that simple, Andy. This is a
*federal* investigation, and ..."
"And I am an *officer* in the United States Marine Corps," Andy
cut Scully off, sharply. "I have the right and the responsibility
to act in the best interests of my country in matters of national
security. And it is my judgment as a Marine that this is a matter
of national security, and that the national interest will be best
served if I accompany you to Chicago and assist you and Special
Agent Mulder with your investigation."
She paused, then continued in a slightly calmer voice. "Now, I
would be more than happy to get in contact with my C.O. to secure
an official assignment, but considering what we just went through
in Atlanta, I doubt that you or Agent Mulder would want to rely on
official channels. Am I correct?"
Scully shot Andy a long look, barely holding back the grin she so
wanted to let loose. Scully knew that tone of voice well. She'd
heard it emitting from her own mouth many, many times, starting
with that first nerve-wracking encounter outside Ellens Air Force
Base in Idaho, so many years ago.
And despite her negative words, she did want Andy on the case. The
woman was no lightweight, and she had grasped very quickly just
what they were up against. She might not know the whole story yet,
but Scully had no doubts that when she did, she would only be more
determined to help.
Sometimes, Scully thought, you just have to trust your instincts.
"All right, here's a compromise," Scully said. "We'll go to Chicago
and meet with Mulder. But I can't let you into the investigation
without clearing it through *our* superior, and he will almost
certainly require a background check first. He is a former Marine
himself, as a matter of fact."
Andy nodded. "Deal," she said, then held out the cell phone she
still held. "Do you want to call someone to get that started?"
Scully glanced at the phone, then reached for it. Keeping one eye
on the deserted road, she punched in the number for the Gunmen's
secure line.
"Lone Gunman."
Byers. Scully breathed a silent sigh of relief and said, "Byers,
this is Scully. I need a favor."
"Actually, I have some information here for you, Agent Scully,"
Byers answered, and Scully could hear papers rustling in the
background. "Mulder called earlier and said one of you would be
calling back to get it. A background check on an Andrea Baker?"
Scully smothered a grin and glanced at Andy. "Yeah, that's why
I was calling," she said dryly. "Mulder apparently beat me to it."
She saw Andy's eyebrows arch as she made the connection.
"Well, she's clean, as far as we can tell," Byers answered. "No
time unaccounted for, no unusual transfers, fairly straightforward.
We're still looking, but there doesn't seem to be anything. Do
you want me to fax the information somewhere?"
"No, that's all right," Scully said. "Just ... call if anything
changes, and we'll let you know if we need anything else. And
Byers ... thanks."
"No problem, Scully."
When Scully ended the call, Andy was smiling. "I'd hazard a guess
*Mulder* is the more paranoid of you two," she said, not quite as
a question.
Scully snorted delicately. "However did you get that idea?" she
asked archly, as she decelerated onto an exit ramp and headed
toward the motel.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 10
==========
United Airlines Flight 1189
Somewhere over Illinois
8:34 p.m. CDT
It was a short flight, less than two hours, so Scully knew better
than to even attempt a nap. Not that she could sleep now, anyway;
too many thoughts whirled around her brain. There was no room for
sleep.
She sat in an aisle seat in the last row of the plane, having
gladly turned the window spot over to Andy. Many things had
changed in six-plus years, but one thing that hadn't was Scully's
dislike of flying. She was no longer white-knuckled, but she still
made every effort to avoid the window seat.
So she couldn't sleep, and she wouldn't watch the lights passing
by below, as Andy had been doing for most of the flight. Which
left only one thing of interest for her: A microcassette tape with
her name on it.
The tape was the single item in a FedEx package waiting at the
front desk of the Columbus motel when she went to check out. The
address read simply "Dana Scully," in care of the motel; the
shipping date was May 10, from Kansas City, Missouri.
Scully had the tape in her microcassette player seconds after
they'd gotten back in the car. But when she pushed "play," she'd
been sure she was losing her mind:
//Hello my baby, hello my honey, hello my ragtime gal
Send me a kiss by wire -- baby my heart's on fire!
If you refuse me, honey you'll lose me, and then you'll be alone
Oh baby, telephone and tell me I'm your own!//
When the short song had ended, Scully and Andy had simply looked
at each other for a few long moments, and then they'd burst out
laughing.
Andy'd found her voice first. "Does this kind of thing happen
often, Agent Scully?" she'd asked. "Because if it does, I want
in!"
In her seat, Scully smiled to herself as she recalled the comment.
They had played and replayed the tape, running all the way
through both sides twice on the way to the airport, but the song
snippet was the only thing on it. So now they were simply waiting
until they arrived in Chicago and could compare notes with
Mulder, hoping some kind of solid lead would coalesce.
Sighing softly, Scully shifted in her seat and leaned back. She
allowed her eyes to slip shut and concentrated on relaxing,
taking advantage of the time to rest, even if she couldn't sleep.
She could hear Andy's deep, even breathing beside her and knew
the other woman was either doing the same or had drifted off
herself.
Before she knew it, she heard the flight attendant announcing
their final approach into Chicago, and she opened her eyes to
check her watch. Nine ... no, eight forty-seven, she corrected
herself, adjusting the watch to Central time.
As she finished, she glanced at Andy to see her following suit.
Scully opened her mouth to speak, but the flight attendants were
making their way down the aisle, checking for trash and seat belts
in preparation for landing, and she thought better of discussing
anything related to the case.
So, she shifted gears. "Where are you from originally, Andy?" she
asked.
Andy shot her a look. "You didn't get that from the background
check?" she asked, eyebrows raised, but then she grinned to show
she was teasing. "No, seriously, I was born in Valdosta," she
said. "My dad was in the Air Force then and was stationed there.
But we moved to Columbus when he got out, when I was three. I've
lived there ever since." She paused, then said, "What about you?"
"Okinawa, believe it or not," Scully said, then started ticking
off on her fingers. "Then Norfolk, then San Diego, then
Annapolis ..."
The women laughed in understanding. "Ah, the life of a military
brat," Andy said, shaking her head. "I was lucky to avoid that,
since Dad got out so soon. But in Columbus, of course, I had a
lot of friends and classmates whose parents were in the Army. It
was tough on them."
Scully nodded slowly. "It wasn't easy," she said. "I was luckier
than some, since I was the youngest and Dad was already in long
enough that he had some choice in assignment. We were only in
Norfolk for five years, but then we were in San Diego for twelve.
Dad split time between the Yard and Miramar, so I ended up
finishing school there and did a year at Berkeley before he got
the transfer to Annapolis."
"Do they still live there?" Andy asked.
Scully smiled softly, absorbing the tiny pain the question
caused. "Mom does," she answered. "Dad died five years ago."
"Oh, Dana, I'm so sorry," Andy said. "I shouldn't have ..."
"It's okay," Scully interrupted gently. "You couldn't have known.
It's fine, really."
Andy sighed. "But I know it must be hard," she said, her voice
soft. "I'm lucky to still have both of my parents, but my
mother's parents both died when she was very young. And my dad's
father died when I was in kindergarten. All I have left is my
grandmother." She glanced at Scully again. "Do you have brothers
and sisters?"
Scully's eyes fluttered shut, and she gave a rueful smile. Andy
certainly didn't know what she was letting herself in for by
pursuing this line of questioning.
Opening her eyes, she focused on the seat in front of her as she
spoke. "I have two brothers, and I had a sister who ... was
killed four years ago," she said.
This time, Andy gasped. "Oh my God, Dana, I wish I could learn to
keep my big mouth shut," she said, covering her face with her
hands. "I am so, so sorry for bringing all this up in the first
place. Let's just talk about something else. I won't ask any more
questions, I promise."
Scully started to reassure the other woman again, but then she
hesitated. She wasn't upset with Andy for bringing up the subject,
but she still didn't want to dwell on it. So she changed tactics
and asked, "Well, why don't you tell me why you went into the
military, and how you ended up working for your hometown paper?"
Andy relaxed noticeably as she went into her story, and by the
time the plane touched down, Scully knew that Andy had chosen the
Marine Corps for the GI Bill and College Fund. Her family had been
unable to cover the costs of college, so rather than borrow
heavily, Andy took the military route, which later paid her way
through journalism school at the University of Georgia.
As the plane taxied toward the terminal, Scully found herself
clasping and unclasping her hands, then wiping her palms along
her pants legs. She forced herself to quell the nervous habits,
and it took her a few minutes to realize what it was that had
set her off.
Mulder.
Mulder was inside, waiting for her.
And she had no idea what to say to him.
==========
O'Hare International Airport
Chicago, IL
9:24 p.m.
Mulder paced in small, tight circles at the foot of the jetway,
pausing briefly at the completion of each circuit to peer down the
passageway.
Still nothing. What could be taking so long? The plane had arrived
at the gate several minutes before, and he couldn't imagine what
could be causing the delay. He glanced at his watch and smiled
ruefully. Four minutes; not so long after all. He and Scully
really needed to have some sort of resolution to this ... thing ...
between them, or he was going to be a nervous wreck.
After leaving the Cedar Rapids television station Mulder had
driven over to Kingston Stadium, the site of yesterday's bee
attack. As he'd expected, he'd found no evidence, no clues -- none
of the employees would even admit to knowing anything about it,
although they all had seemed jumpy and nervous.
He'd also tried calling the two hospitals in Cedar Rapids, as
well as the major medical center complex at the University of Iowa
in nearby Iowa City, but again he'd run into a stone wall: No
records existed of so much as a single bee sting victim being
treated anywhere in the area in the past 48 hours -- let alone 83
such victims.
And of course, nobody he spoke to had any personal recollection of
such a thing, either.
"Mulder!"
He was brought back to the present by the sound of Andy Baker's
voice, and he swung around to see the reporter just emerging from
the jetway and heading in his direction. He craned his neck
slightly and was rewarded by a flash of red hair behind her, and
almost despite himself he felt a smile spreading slowly across his
face.
"Glad to see me, are you, Mulder?" Andy said with a smirk as she
came to a halt in front of him. She looked up at him for just a
moment with an amused expression on her face, and then she stepped
to one side and there was Scully.
God, she was beautiful. Mulder was stunned by the realization, and
his mouth suddenly felt very dry. She was standing about two feet
in front of him, a nervous-looking smile on her face, and in a
blinding flash of insight he had an epiphany:
She was just as uncertain about all of this as he was.
Somehow that made everything easier to deal with. Mulder allowed
his own smile to broaden, hoping like hell that it would seem warm
and welcoming rather than desperate and idiotic. His hands
twitched at his sides as he repressed the urge simply to reach out
and grab her. Not like that, he told himself; not like that.
Abruptly he felt a shove in the small of his back, and he stumbled
forward, his hands automatically reaching out to grab his
partner's shoulders for balance. He felt a slight touch at his
waist, and realized that she was also holding him, steadying him,
and now they were only inches apart, and he looked down into her
eyes and was lost.
"Jesus. Don't you have to pass *some* sort of intelligence test to
get into the FBI?" That was Andy's voice, but Mulder barely heard
her; all he could see was Scully's face, her expression sober and
serious as ever, but now with something else he had rarely seen
there before. Something soft and tender. Something feminine.
Without knowing quite how it had happened, he was kissing her. And
this was not a quick peck like that morning in Atlanta; this one
was deep and long and meaningful, and he felt her arms sliding
around his waist even as his own arms were wrapping themselves
around her shoulders, drawing her inward into an intimate embrace.
The world around them slowed almost to a stop, and for a timeless
interval Mulder felt a sense of completeness and contentment which
he could not recall experiencing in this lifetime. This was where
he was meant to be, this was his true home; and no matter what
might lie ahead, nothing and no one would ever be able to take
this moment from them.
Finally they broke apart, and this time Scully's smile was
positively radiant. "I guess that settles *that* question," she
said, her voice very low and just a little rough.
Mulder chuckled and released her from the embrace, taking her hand
as they turned to follow Andy towards baggage claim. "Yep," he
said. "I guess it does."
==========
Best Western Inn, Rosemont, IL
Near O'Hare International Airport
10:48 p.m.
A little over an hour later Mulder lay sprawled on one of the beds
in Scully and Andy's room at the motel they'd found. Several open
boxes of Chinese carryout were scattered here and there around the
room, reminding Mulder rather vividly of the impromptu dinner the
three of them had shared at the Holiday Inn in Columbus the
previous day.
Jesus. Had it really been only the previous day? So much had
happened since then, so much had changed -- and not just
concerning the investigation, either. He glanced across at Scully, sitting
crosslegged on the other bed, and saw her looking back at him, an
expression of gentle possessiveness on her face.
"Mulder? Are you listening to me?"
With a conscious effort, Mulder dragged his attention away from
his partner and looked over at Andy, who was lounging on the floor
and leaning against the connecting door to his room. "What's that,
Andy? I'm sorry ... I was thinking about something else."
"I'll say," she muttered under her breath, an amused smirk on her
face. "Anyway, as I was just saying, Dana and I solved the case
this afternoon on the way back to Atlanta. We phoned it in to your
boss, and the SWAT teams are in action as we speak. We would have
just called you and let you know, but Dana said she wanted to take
in a Cubs game and hit the Museum of Science and Industry before
heading back to D.C."
For just an instant Mulder stared at the reporter open-mouthed,
and then Andy suddenly burst out laughing. "Sorry, Mulder," she
said, glancing over at Scully -- who was losing her battle against
a smile -- and then back at him again, still chuckling. "You two
are just too damned cute for words. Honestly. But we do have some
work to do, I think."
Mulder couldn't help but laugh in response; Andy's good-natured
sense of humor was infectious. He shook his head ruefully and
said, "Okay, okay; I get your point. Let's back up and start
over."
The two women proceeded to fill him in on the events of the day,
trading the story back and forth seemingly by instinct, and
breaking in on each other to fill in forgotten details. Mulder
watched their performance with increasing awe as the narrative
progressed: Not only had Andy been a loyal, dependable backup for
his partner, but it was clear that the two of them had rapidly and
seemingly without effort established a rapport which rivaled that
which existed between Scully and himself.
He briefly tested the idea -- and his own reaction to it -- for
any sign of envy or jealousy on his own part, but was relieved to
find that there was none. Andy was not a threat to his
relationship with Scully -- not professionally, and certainly not
personally. In fact, the reporter appeared to be filling some gaps
in Scully's life which he had been aware of for some time, but had
been unable to do anything about himself. And that was all to the
good.
At last the story reached the checkout desk at the motel in
Columbus, and Scully described her surprise at finding an
overnight letter waiting for her. "At first I thought it was from
you," she said to Mulder. "But then I realized it couldn't be; it
would have to have been shipped pretty late on Monday, and we were
all still in Georgia on Monday. And then I saw the postmark...."
Her voice trailed off and she shrugged. "I don't know who it was
from. And all that was in it was this." She briefly held up a
microcassette tape, then popped it into her player and pushed the
start button.
The tape crackled in the machine for a minute, and then a familiar
song started playing:
//Hello my baby, hello my honey, hello my ragtime gal
Send me a kiss by wire -- baby my heart's on fire!
If you refuse me, honey you'll lose me, and then you'll be alone
Oh baby, telephone and tell me I'm your own!//
Mulder felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as the song ended,
to be replaced only by the faint crackle of blank tape passing
through the machine. Scully pushed stop and looked over at him
again.
"And that's all there is," she said. We played the entire thing
through twice, both sides. There's nothing but that little
snippet."
Mulder shook his head. "Weird. Maybe it was a prank?"
His partner shrugged. "Maybe. Or a bit of misdirection. Or just a
distraction. It would help us figure out what the purpose was if
we knew who it was from."
Mulder nodded thoughtfully. Time to add his own little enigma to
the pot. He reached into his pocket for the slip of paper he'd
received from Krycek, saying, "Well, I don't know if this makes
anything any clearer, but as I said earlier, I bumped into an old
*friend* of ours this afternoon, and he gave me this."
Taking the paper from his hand, Scully raised her eyebrows at him
in silent inquiry. "Alex Krycek," he explained. Glancing over at
Andy, he said, "Krycek is a ... well, a mercenary, for want of a
better word. He's a former Bureau agent. We've run into him from
time to time in the past, and he seems to be connected somehow
with the people we think were responsible for what happened in
Columbus and Cedar Rapids the past couple of days."
Scully had glanced down at the slip and studied it while he was
speaking to Andy; now she looked back up at Mulder. "Lake
Superior," she said neutrally, and then her lips quirked slightly.
"Excuse me: 'What is Lake Superior?'"
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 11
==========
11:07 p.m.
Mulder felt his own eyebrows raise in surprise at Scully's words.
"Lake Superior?" he asked. "How did you get that out of it?"
She shrugged slightly. "Longfellow and Lightfoot," she said. "It's
the first association that springs to mind." Mulder shook his head
and gestured for her to continue. "Well, you can probably guess
what the Lightfoot reference is," she said. "In the first stanza
of 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald' mention is made of 'the
big lake they call Gitche Gumee', which is the Ojibway tribal name
for Lake Superior -- which is where the Edmund Fitzgerald was lost,
of course."
"Okay," Mulder said, nodding, his gaze intent on her face. "I got
that much. What about Longfellow?"
She shrugged. "Nothing earthshattering, but Longfellow mentioned
Gitche Gumee as well, in 'The Song of Hiawatha'." She closed her
eyes, and recited:
"'By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.
Dark behind it rose the forest,
Rose the black and gloomy pine trees,
Rose the firs with cones upon them;
Bright before it beat the water,
Beat the clear and sunny water,
Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.'"
Scully opened her eyes again and glanced briefly at Andy before
looking back at Mulder. "But that's just the first association I
came up with; it could simply be a coincidence."
Mulder shook his head, his eyes drifting off and going slightly
unfocused, as they tended to do when he was processing information.
"I don't think so, Scully," he said slowly. "Those are two such
diverse sources, and you spotted the correlation right off the bat."
He swiveled his head back to grin at her. "Besides, if
coincidences are just coincident --"
"-- then why do they feel so contrived?" she finished for him with
a grin. "Yeah, I know." Her features turned serious again. "But
even if we assume that WAS the intended association, that still
doesn't help us much; Lake Superior is a big place."
"I think you're right, though, Dana." Mulder turned in surprise at
the sound of Andy's voice; he'd almost forgotten that the reporter
was in the room. "And we CAN narrow it down a bit," she continued.
"The Edmund Fitzgerald went down on the south side of the lake --
pretty close to shore, as a matter of fact. Remember the lyrics?
'The searchers all say she'd have made Whitefish Bay if they'd put
fifteen more miles behind them.' Whitefish Bay is on the south
shore, pretty close to Sault Ste. Marie, and there's even a
shipwreck museum there. I was up in Mackinaw Island one summer,
and we spent a couple of days driving along the coast of the
lake."
She colored slightly, and went on, "And this *also* ties in with
the tape you got, Dana."
Scully looked as surprised as Mulder felt. "It does?" his partner
asked.
Andy nodded vigorously. "Sure! Don't you guys ever watch cartoons,
or even the WB network? That song clip is from a classic Warner
Brothers cartoon: 'One Froggy Evening.' It's about a singing frog
named Michigan J. Frog. *Michigan* J. Frog, get it? He even sings
'The Michigan Rag' elsewhere in the cartoon." She looked from
Scully to Mulder and then back to Scully again. "So that just
reinforces the idea that whatever it is we're looking for it's on
the Michigan side of Lake Superior."
"I don't know," Scully said doubtfully. "That sounds pretty --"
"-- amazing," Mulder said, cutting her off. "That's simply amazing,
Andy." He could feel his mind going into overdrive as his
investigator's intuition kicked in, and he looked over at his
partner. "I think she's right, Scully. I think she's hit the nail
right on the head. At the very least, it's a better lead than
anything else we've got right now."
Scully raised her eyebrows, then shrugged. "I should know better
by now than to argue with you about something like this," she
said. But there was a hint of humor in her voice that took the
sting out of her words. "And you're right; it *is* the only real
lead we've got at the moment." She leaned forward and handed the
slip of paper back to him. "So what did Krycek want, anyway? I
assume there was more than just that," she said, gesturing at the
paper.
Mulder hesitated before responding, suddenly feeling uncomfortable
at what he was about to tell his partner. Scully surely knew by
now that he'd made his choice and was going to stand by her ...
but he still wasn't very happy with how he'd handled himself
during the Cassandra Spender case, and he was afraid that what he
was about to say might reopen old wounds.
"He was waiting for me at the airport," he began, hesitantly. "And
he implied that he knew every detail about the car you were
driving. Which suggests that we're being watched very closely right
now." Scully nodded her understanding -- and something in his face
or tone of voice must have alerted her to what was coming, because
she suddenly looked wary.
Mulder went on, "Anyway, he said he'd been sent to deliver a
message."
Mulder glanced at Andy, and she apparently had also realized that
something big was about to come down, because she was studiously
looking away from both of the agents. He sighed, and looked back
at his partner. "Basically, the message was, 'Come home; all is
forgiven.'" And he stopped and waited to see what Scully was going
to say.
"How did you respond?" she asked. Her gaze was even and level, but
there was just the slightest hint of a tremor in her voice.
Mulder swallowed, and then said the only words he could think of.
"I'm here, aren't I?"
She seemed to study his face for a moment, and finally she nodded.
Not in surrender of the point, but at least in provisional
acceptance of it. "Yes, you are."
"I'm where I want to be, Scully," he said, his voice very low. His
throat was suddenly constricted, and he was having difficulty
forcing the words out. He wished Andy weren't there; this was hard
enough to do just in front of his partner. But there was really no
alternative; he had to get this settled, once and for all.
"I'm where I want to be," he repeated. "There isn't anywhere else, and
there isn't anyone else. Not anymore. I've been stupid and
thoughtless, but that's past. When Krycek made that offer, I
turned him down flat. It wasn't even a close call."
She continued to study his face for another pair of minutes, until
at last he saw her features soften, just a little. "Okay, Mulder,"
she said in a low voice. "Okay. I'll ... accept that." She paused,
then added, "And for the record, this is where I want to be, too.
Wherever you are, that's where I want to be." She paused for
another moment, and then she said. "So did Krycek have anything
else to say, or was he just running errands for Spender and
Fowley?"
"Yeah," Mulder said. "He did have a bit more on his mind. He said
what we suspected: This is the real thing. The attacks in Columbus
and Cedar Rapids were what he called 'dress rehearsals', and
everything is going according to plan. 'The ball's already in
play; it's much too late for anyone to do anything to stop it.'
Those were his exact words, Scully."
Silence descended on the room, and for a pair of minutes nobody
spoke. Finally, Andy spoke, a little hesitantly. "Uh, guys?" she
asked. "Is it too much to ask to be brought up to speed on all of
this? Which ball, exactly, are we talking about here? And what do
you mean when you say, 'This is the real thing'?"
Mulder thought about it a moment, then shrugged. They'd told Andy
a little of what was happening on Monday afternoon, but they'd
held back some of the more dire implications. Now, however, if she
was going to be a player -- and she seemed to be determined to do
so -- she was going to have to hear the rest of it. He glanced at
Scully, and she nodded, almost imperceptibly.
Mulder took a deep breath and turned back to the reporter. With
slow deliberation, he said, "We're talking about the end of the
world."
==========
11:27 p.m.
Scully flinched involuntarily at Mulder's somber statement, while
Andy simply stared at him. His words had hit Scully harder than
she'd expected; it was the first time he had put the situation in
quite those terms. But that was exactly what they were up against,
and they all needed to face it.
Scully managed to shake herself free from her shock and started to
wrack her brain, trying to think of what they should say next.
There was so much to explain, and she didn't quite know where to
start.
Andy saved her the trouble. "What the hell are you talking about?"
she demanded.
Mulder's mouth twisted into a parody of a smile, and he shot
Scully an almost-apologetic look before he said, "Do you believe
in the existence of extraterrestrials?"
"Mulder --" Scully started to protest, but once again, Andy beat
her to the punch.
"Aliens?" Andy said, incredulous. "You think, what, we're about
to be invaded? 'Independence Day' meets 'Swarm'?"
Mulder's voice was calm. "I know it sounds insane," he said
carefully. "But all indications we have are that we are about to
be colonized by a hostile race of extraterrestrials. Now, Scully
and I have some difference of opinion over this, and we have very
little hard evidence. But we do agree that *someone* is trying to
take control, and that a lot of people are probably going to die
in the process."
Andy studied him, then Scully, as if she was trying to decode
their expressions and figure out the puzzle of her life. Which,
Scully realized, she was.
Scully decided it was time for her to speak up. "Andy, it sounds
crazy, I know," she said, her voice low but intense. "But we have
seen bee attacks like this before, and seen some of the results.
We think those bees were carrying a virus of unknown origin. One
which is almost always fatal, and one for which no reliable cure
exists."
There must have been something in her voice; either that, or
Andy's observational skills were better than Scully realized.
"You sound like you have firsthand experience," the reporter said,
her eyes sharp and zeroed in on Scully.
Scully hesitated, then nodded. "I was stung last summer," she
confirmed. "Mulder was given a vaccine to use, and it worked. But
we don't have the vaccine now, and we don't know if it even
exists any more."
Andy nodded slowly, accepting this much of the explanation, then
turned her attention back to Mulder. "So what, exactly, makes you
think this is aliens?" she asked.
Mulder closed his eyes for a second, then reopened them and
focused on Andy. "Because I've seen them," he said simply.
Andy fell silent, her eyes on Mulder's face. Mulder took the
scrutiny silently, and Scully got the impression he was willing
Andy to believe him.
Finally, without taking her eyes off of Mulder, Andy said, "Dana?
You really believe all this?"
Scully hesitated, then nodded. "Not exactly as he does," she
clarified. "Mulder told you: We disagree on some of the ... finer
points. But the essence of the story is true." She looked at her
partner and saw that he was looking back at her, and there was no
mistaking the open affection and gratitude in his eyes. "I'm sure
of that."
There was another moment of silence as Andy continued to study
Mulder's face. At last she nodded briskly. "Okay," she said.
"I'll buy the takeover story, although I'm not convinced it's
aliens. It's far out, but to tell the truth, I can't imagine how
or why you'd make something like that up." She paused, then said,
"The next question is, what the hell can we do about it?"
Scully had no idea what to tell her, and she could see that
Mulder didn't, either.
==========
11:58 p.m.
Thirty minutes later they still hadn't found an answer to that
last question, and as the hour approached midnight Scully finally
called a curfew, insisting that they all needed to get some rest.
For once even Mulder was not inclined to argue the point. Other
than the nap on the plane he hadn't slept since Monday afternoon,
and he knew it had been even longer for his partner and Andy.
He looked over at Scully, still sitting crosslegged on the other
bed, as she yawned and stretched. He wished that there were some
way the two of them could get a few minutes alone together. So
much had happened between them in the past 24 hours, so much had
changed, and he had so many things he wanted to tell her.
But he hesitated to ask her for that time alone. She'd already
given him so much today, and he didn't want to push her faster
than she wanted to go.
Abruptly, Andy was bouncing to her feet and moving towards the
door to the outside. "Well," she said, her words a little rushed,
"I don't know about you two, but I'm not going to be able to sleep
soundly until I've checked the perimeter. All this talk of alien
invasions and government conspiracies has made me just a little
paranoid. Shouldn't take long -- maybe twenty minutes or so." And
before either partner could react to her statement she was out the
door and gone.
Mulder found himself staring at the closed door open-mouthed --
and then he heard a light chuckle from the other side of the room,
and turned in that direction to see Scully grinning at him.
"I'd say we've just been set up, wouldn't you, Agent Mulder?"
Mulder felt a slow smile spreading across his own features as he
watched his partner climbing off of her bed and moving over to sit
next to him where he still lay sprawled on the other one. "Looks
that way, Agent Scully," he said, and then he shivered slightly as
she ran the fingers of one hand lightly through his hair.
For a few minutes neither of them spoke. Mulder simply lay on his
back looking up at Scully, watching her as she watched him,
tracing her features with his eyes even as she traced his scalp
with her fingertips. He'd never allowed himself to look at her
like this before, and now that they'd abruptly broken down those
walls he didn't know if he would ever be able to stop.
God, he needed to touch her, too. Her fingers were still idly
playing with his hair, but it wasn't enough -- it wasn't nearly
enough. He knew they had to take this slowly -- it was all so new
and strange, and they both needed to take their time adjusting to
this new aspect of their relationship. But perhaps tonight they
could at least have a little bit more.
He allowed his hands to move forward until he was lightly gripping
her waist. Scully flinched slightly at his touch, but then flashed
him a reassuring smile and allowed herself to be drawn down. She
pulled her legs around as she moved, so that she was lying on her
side next to him on the bed, his hands still resting on her waist,
her face now only inches from his own.
"I've wanted this for such a long time," Mulder said at last, very
softly. "Such a very long time." He hesitated, not sure how far he
should go, but then he forced his doubts and insecurities to one
side. She would understand. She would have to understand. "But I
wish ... I wish it hadn't happened this way."
"What do you mean?" she asked, equally softly. But he could see
in her eyes that she already knew the answer; she just wanted him
to say the words out loud.
He drew her a little closer, taking comfort and reassurance from
the warmth of her body. "I mean I never wanted this to happen in
a moment of despair," he said, and he had to swallow slightly to
clear the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "Despair
has driven so much of our time together, right from the very
beginning. Despair, and grief. And loss. I wanted ... I wanted
this, with you, to be different. That's one reason why I held
back for so long. I kept waiting for the moment when we could be
happy together." Despite himself, he felt tears forming in his
eyes. "But I kept waiting and waiting, and that moment never
came."
Scully nodded slowly, then leaned forward and brushed her lips
lightly against his. "It's okay, though, Mulder," she whispered
against his mouth. "It's really okay. This may not be the moment
we both wanted it to be, but at least it's here. And I wouldn't
trade it for anything in the world." And again she kissed him.
At length they reluctantly drew apart. During that last kiss
Mulder had become acutely aware of his own physical need for her,
and now looking down at her he saw that same desire reflected in
her own eyes. It would be so easy just to give in to that and try
to lose themselves in each other, even if only for a few hours. It
would be so very easy, and he knew that she would not refuse him
if he chose to pursue it. All that was needed was one more small
shove to send them both over the edge ...
And then her eyes changed again, and the moment had passed. Mulder
allowed a wistful smile to creep across his lips, and he said,
"Not tonight, I guess."
Scully smiled back and shook her head before closing her eyes and
allowing her head to fall back on the pillow. "Too much, too
soon," she murmured, her voice tinged with regret, and he knew
that she was right. And in another minute her breathing had slowed
and deepened, and he realized that she had finally given in to her
exhaustion.
Mulder waited a few more minutes to make sure she was well and
truly asleep, and then he gently disentangled himself from her
embrace, climbed off the bed and covered her with the blanket
before finally going to his own room. He flicked on the
television and then stripped down to his boxers and crawled into
bed.
For a few minutes his eyes followed the flickering images on the
TV screen, but soon his eyelids began to droop, and within a few
minutes more he too had fallen fast asleep.
==========
4:13 a.m.
Scully sat straight up in the bed when the knock sounded, going
from deeply asleep to completely alert between one breath and the
next. Her hand was grabbing for her gun where it lay on the
nightstand almost immediately as her eyes tracked to the clock,
and she caught sight of Andy doing the same thing in the bed next
to her.
Scully took a deep breath to steady herself and whispered, "You
ask who it is, but stay to the side of the door. I'll cover."
Andy nodded, and the two women slipped from their beds, Scully
moving to stand to one side as Andy flattened herself against
the wall, then edged carefully toward the door, gun in hand.
Stopping several feet from the doorway, she called out, "Who's
there?"
A pause, and a male voice said, "I'm looking for Agent Scully."
The voice sounded familiar to Scully, but she couldn't quite
recognize it. Moving closer to the door, she said, "Who the hell
are you, and why the hell should I let you in?"
The pause was longer this time, and then the voice spoke again.
"I need to talk to you, Agent Scully," he said, slowly and
distinctly. "This is Jeffrey Spender."
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 12
==========
4:16 a.m.
Scully knew her mouth had dropped open in shock, but she was
frozen in place for a few long moments. Andy's voice finally
shook her free.
"Who is that?" Andy hissed, her gun still at the ready.
Scully moved cautiously toward the door. "He's an agent who
disappeared without a trace three months ago," she said in a low
voice, sidling up carefully to peer out the peephole. "He was
presumed dead, actually; his blood was found on the floor of ...
an office where he'd been working."
Sure enough, outside the door stood a tall, thin, familiar figure,
dressed in a suit and tie and draped with a black trenchcoat. His
eyes moved from one side to the other, scanning for potential
danger as he waited to be allowed entry.
Scully thought quickly. It could be a trap. She'd been fooled by
a lookalike of Mulder before, and that had nearly gotten them both
killed.
But if this *was* Spender, he had a hell of a lot of questions to
answer.
She spoke through the door. "Get your hands up in the air where I
can see them," she barked, watching as Spender's head swung around
to face the door. He complied, lifting his hands, then placing
them on top of his head.
Still moving cautiously, Scully stepped across the doorway, then
glanced at Andy, motioning with her gun hand. "Back up over there
and cover me," she said, then paused and pinned Andy with a hard
look. "But do not fire unless you *absolutely* have to."
Andy's face furrowed, and she opened her mouth as if to question,
but then stopped and snapped her jaw shut. She planted herself
near the beds, gun trained on the doorway, and nodded once to
indicate she was ready.
Scully released the locks and opened the door carefully, stepping
back while keeping her own weapon trained on the man outside.
"Inside, over to the bed, sit down, and keep your hands on your
head," she ordered.
Spender shot her an annoyed glance but followed her instructions,
eyeing Andy with some curiosity as she backed away from him.
Scully closed and locked the door without looking, then walked
back toward Spender, stopping in front of him but staying a few
feet back.
"Okay, start talking," she said. "And what you say better make
sense damn fast."
Spender sighed. "Can I put my arms down now?" he asked, almost
petulantly.
Scully rolled her eyes. "Okay, but move slowly, and sit on them
instead."
Spender looked annoyed again but continued to follow Scully's
orders. Once he was settled with his hands under his legs, Scully
looked at Andy, jerking her weapon and head in Spender's
direction. "Frisk him," she said. "Carefully."
Andy nodded, lowering her own gun to the far edge of the dresser
before quickly and efficiently patting Spender down. She emerged
with a handgun from a shoulder holster -- and a small, silver,
penlike item, which she looked at with some confusion.
Scully's eyes widened when she saw what Andy held, and she
immediately held her left hand out. "You keep the gun, but give
me that," she said. "If it's what I think it is ..."
"It is," Spender said immediately, an edge of either anger or
disgust in his voice. "And do you really think I'd show up with
*that* on me if I was what you apparently think I am?"
"Why not?" Scully retorted, shifting the gimlet around in her hand
to get a thumb on the trigger. "The second time I saw one, that
Schwarzenegger wannabe had it on him."
Her thumb landed on its target, and the switchpick opened with a
swish, drawing a gasp from Andy.
"What the hell is that thing?" Andy demanded, throwing glances at
it every few seconds, between keeping an eye on Spender.
"It's a weapon," he said in a flat voice, his eyes on Scully's.
"Used to kill when nothing else will do the job."
Scully met his gaze. "You've used it," she said, not really asking
a question.
Spender nodded once. "Badly, at first," he confirmed. "Better with
practice, but still only a few times." His voice hardened. "And
even then only when absolutely necessary, Agent Scully. I took an
oath when I became a Federal agent, and I didn't do a good job
keeping it then. But I'm doing my damnedest to keep it now, and
that's why I came to talk to you."
Scully studied the younger man for a moment. "Why me?" she asked.
"Why not Mulder?"
Spender shrugged, his eyes dropping to stare at his knees. "I
considered it, and decided Agent Mulder was the one more likely to
shoot first and ask questions later," he said in a wry tone. "I
thought you'd give me a chance to talk before you killed me."
Scully relaxed minutely at that. "You're probably right about
that," she conceded. "So what is so important that you're willing
to risk one of us shooting you?"
Spender's head lifted, and Scully was taken aback at the hardness
she saw behind his eyes.
"I'm here, Agent Scully, to tell you and your partner to stop
letting yourselves be led around like trained animals," he said
sharply. "I know who Agent Mulder met with in Iowa, and I know
what he was told. I also know that it's a diversion, and that if
you allow yourselves to be distracted, you will be too late."
Scully frowned. "Too late for what?" she asked.
Spender shrugged. "Too late to save the world, of course," he said
in a matter-of-fact tone.
Silence hung the air for a few seconds before Andy finally broke
it. "All right," she demanded. "Quit the bullshit and get to the
point. Why are you here, where have you been, and why the hell
should we listen to you?"
Spender seemed taken aback by Andy's outburst and stared at her.
"Excuse me?" he retorted. "And just who the *hell* are you
anyway?"
"Captain Andrea Baker, United States Marine Corps Reserves," Andy
snapped back. "Not that it's any of your *damn* business. Now
answer the questions, you punkass!"
Spender simply stared at her, his mouth hanging open a half-inch,
and then slowly rotated his head back to look at Scully. "Where
the hell did you find this one?" he asked.
If Scully hadn't been so tense, she would probably have laughed
at that. Instead, she said, "Never mind, Spender. Just speak your
piece and I'll decide if it's enough to save your life."
Spender held her gaze for a moment, then looked away and nodded.
"All right," he said. "Here's the deal: The message you got is
accurate, but it's not important. They're trying to distract you
from what you should really be looking for."
"Which is?" Scully prompted.
"I think you know," Spender said.
Scully let out an exasperated sigh. "Cut the shit, Spender," she
said. "I'm sick of riddles and guessing games. If you want to tell
me something, then just tell me."
Spender sighed as well. "The victims, Scully," he said. "Trace the
victims and you'll find what you need to find. You and Agent
Mulder are letting yourselves be distracted, and that is the one
thing none of us can afford right now. There's no time."
"Why?" Andy asked, taking a half-step closer. "You keep talking
like we're all under a deadline here. What do you know that you're
not telling us?"
Spender gave her a long look, then slowly turned back to Scully.
"The date is set," he said slowly. "Our time is up."
Scully felt her blood run cold. "When?" she forced out, her voice
hoarse.
Spender's face was blank when he spoke again, but his words froze
Scully's blood in her veins:
"Memorial Day."
========
4:33 a.m.
At first Mulder wasn't sure what had awakened him. His room was
still dark, other than the flickering images on the TV screen, and
the only sound was the muted murmur of voices coming from the same
source.
Without moving, he cast his eyes around as much of the room as he
could see, but there was nothing -- and nobody -- there, other
than the shadowy outlines of the furniture and the sparse decor.
Still, something *had* awakened him -- he was sure of it. He
wasn't quite sure *how* he knew, but he knew. It hadn't been a
dream, and he certainly wasn't completely rested and ready for the
day -- not after only four hours. No, there had been some outside
stimulus. Something ... something ...
A sound? Mulder concentrated, trying to bring back the fragment of
a memory. A sound. A short, sharp sound. Too quiet to be a gunshot,
but loud enough, apparently, to disturb him.
A door closing?
He rolled out of bed and onto his feet, and without turning on the
lights he managed to find his slacks and pull them on. He then
picked up his weapon off the bedside table, and walked quietly
over to the connecting door to Scully and Andy's room.
As he approached, he saw that there was a light showing from
underneath it, and he drew in his breath -- and just as quickly
let it out again. Just because there was a light on in the next
room didn't mean that anything was wrong. Scully and Andy must
have woken up for some reason, and they were sitting and chatting
for a few minutes before going back to sleep. That's all. Nothing
to be alarmed about.
Except that he didn't believe it for a minute. His professional
instincts were quivering, and alarm bells were clanging in his
head. Without consciously thinking about it he worked the slide of
his weapon, jacking a round into the chamber, then slowly reached
out and as quietly as possible opened his side of the connecting
door.
Their side was still closed, but he knew it would be unlocked. For
just another moment he paused and listened, but there was nothing
but silence in the other room.
This was ridiculous; this was foolish. He was about to do a Rambo
into his partner's motel room, with nothing to justify it but a
vaguely defined feeling that something was wrong. These two women
were both quite capable of taking care of themselves, and they
were both armed. There was no reason for him to be doing this;
none at all.
But he couldn't help himself.
He closed his eyes very briefly, praying that he was about to make
a fool of himself. Then he opened his eyes, took a deep breath,
and kicked in the door.
==========
4:39 a.m.
Scully would later thank God she'd had a few minutes to collect
her wits after Spender's departure. Because when Mulder came
crashing through the door, she'd been no more than a hair's-
breadth away from pulling the trigger on him. Two minutes earlier,
and she didn't know if she'd have been able to stop herself.
Instead, she hit him with the residue of her anger, fear, and
frustration.
"Mulder, what the *fuck* are you doing?" she demanded, her voice
as harsh as her words. "Have you completely lost your fucking
*mind*??"
He lay in an only half-dignified and virtually ineffectual lump on
the floor, his gun pointed in her direction but tilted up toward
the ceiling, where he'd moved it instinctively once he realized
there was no danger.
He looked up at her, embarrassment warring with guilt for the
upper hand in his expression. "Sorry, Scully," he said sheepishly.
"I heard noises and I guess I got a little carried away."
Scully snorted as she secured her weapon and placed it on the
dresser. "Now THERE'S an understatement," she said, sneering.
"What the hell were you thinking? Did you conveniently forget that
this room was occupied by two well-armed and fully trained
people who can take care of their own damn selves?"
Mulder had pushed himself to his feet as she spoke, wincing and
rubbing his shoulder where he'd bounced off the door frame on his
way into the room, but Scully was too angry to worry about any
possible injuries. Instead, she lit into him again.
"It's four-thirty in the fucking morning, and for all you know we
could be in here talking or watching TV or getting ready to take
fucking *showers*," she ranted, pacing back and forth between the
beds and the dresser. "And you come crashing in here with some
hero complex and think you've got to rescue the poor damsels ..."
"Dana." Andy's voice was firm and clear and served to cut through
the layers of emotion coloring Scully's speech.
Scully stopped in mid-step and mid-sentence, and as soon as she
did, all the frustration and most of the anger and fear drained
away, along with the adrenalin rush. Her knees weakened, and she
moved carefully the two feet to the edge of the bed, lowering
herself onto the mattress.
"Shit," she muttered.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Mulder take a hesitant step in
her direction, as if he was afraid his movement would set her off
again. Her eyelids slid shut, and she took several deep breaths,
trying to fight off the pounding headache that was taking root
behind her eyes.
Spender's words kept running through her mind. Memorial Day. Less
than three weeks before everything went to hell. And the only
lead they had was questionable at best.
Three weeks. In three weeks, they could all be dead. Her. Mulder.
Andy. Their friends. Their families ...
Scully's mind brought forth an image from two weeks earlier. She
sat on the sofa in her mother's living room, drinking coffee and
laughing, as Margaret Scully filled her in on the latest gossip
from their extended family. She could feel the warmth of the room
and the conversation deep inside her, and she struggled to hold
onto that sensation as the memory started to fade from her mind.
She heard Andy speaking softly, but it took a moment for the
words to filter into her brain. "Dana? Dana, are you gonna be
okay?"
She opened her eyes to meet the concern in Andy's. The younger
woman was squatting on the floor next to her and was lifting her
hand to Scully's forehead.
"There you are," Andy said with a small smile. "You drifted off
there for a minute. Where were you?"
Scully shook her head sharply. "I'm ... I'm fine," she said,
ignoring the low sound of derision she heard coming from Mulder's
direction at her words.
Andy nodded. "Okay," she said softly. "Why don't you lie down and
see if you can sleep another couple hours or so before we leave?
It's not even five yet, and our flight's not until 10:30 ..."
"NO!" Scully's head popped up. "We need to talk. We need to tell
Mulder ..."
"Tell me what?" Mulder's voice cut in. He was at Scully's side an
instant later, sinking onto the mattress next to her as she
turned, slowly, to face him. "What happened?" he asked, his eyes
wide and anxious.
Scully opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed, and lowered her
gaze to study the rumpled bedspread on which she sat. "We had ...
a visitor," she said carefully. "He told us that the leads to
northern Michigan were designed to lead us off the real trail,
and ..." Her voice trailed off, and she gave Andy a pleading
glance.
Andy nodded in response, then looked at Mulder. "He told us that
the date was set," she said, but then she hesitated, and Mulder
jumped in.
"Who was it? Krycek?" he demanded, and now he was up and pacing.
"That asshole does nothing but run us around in circles. I knew
I should *never* have let him out of that car ..."
"Mulder!" Scully interrupted his self-flagellation. "It wasn't
Krycek."
He stopped in mid-stride, much as Scully had a few minutes earlier,
and shot her a glare. "Well, then, who the hell was it?" he
snapped.
Scully met his angry gaze directly. "It was Jeffrey Spender," she
said.
Mulder's eyes widened, then narrowed almost instantly. "Are you
sure it was him?" he asked.
Scully let out a frustrated sigh. "Yes, Mulder, I sliced into his
arm to make sure he didn't bleed green," she said sarcastically.
"No, of course I can't be sure it was him. But he didn't try
anything, and he had one of those weapons on him." She glanced
around and spied the switchpick on the nightstand. "That, whatever
it's called," she said, nodding her head in that direction.
Mulder looked where she indicated, then stepped over and picked
up the metal cylinder. He repeated Scully's actions from earlier
again, instantly finding the trigger and opening the weapon.
He looked at Scully. "This doesn't mean anything," he said. "They
carry them anyway ..."
"I know," Scully interrupted, impatient. "But he didn't try
anything, and he left without the weapon. Or the clip from his
gun, for that matter; we took that, too."
Mulder's gaze hardened. "You just let him walk out of here?" he
demanded. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"What was *I* thinking?" Scully was on her feet and incensed. "You
certainly are one to talk. What were *you* thinking when you let a
*federal fugitive* out of your car in Iowa? Jeffrey Spender may
be officially missing, but he is *not* a wanted felon by *any*
stretch of the imagination. I had no just cause to keep him here
against his will."
She paused, then said in a calmer voice. "If I had, we might all
be dead by now; we have no way of knowing who might be following
him. We might all be dead in three weeks anyway, but at least this
way ..."
"Three weeks?" Mulder interrupted again. "What's in three weeks?"
Scully hesitated, only then realizing that they still hadn't told
Mulder the date Spender had named. She reached out her hand to
slip it into his, squeezing lightly, and watching his eyes dip to
look at their hands before raising back to her face.
"Scully?" he asked softly. "What is it? *When* is it?"
She took a breath, then said, "Memorial Day."
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
===========
Chapter 13
===========
Whitefish Point, MI
Wednesday, May 12, 1999
5:55 p.m. EDT
Mulder peered into the late afternoon sunlight and tried to blink
the sleep from his eyes as he steered their latest rental car into
the tiny hamlet of Whitefish Point in the Upper Peninsula of
Michigan. The two women had fallen asleep almost as soon as they
left the airport at Sault Ste. Marie, so he'd been left alone with
his thoughts for much of the past two hours.
Despite good intentions, none of them had slept more than a couple
of hours after Mulder had burst into Scully and Andy's room in
Chicago. The three of them had sat up for half an hour or so
kicking around the implications of Jeffrey Spender's visit without
really getting anywhere before Mulder had finally returned to his
own room and tried to go back to sleep.
But he hadn't been able to sleep. He'd tossed and turned, trying
to find a comfortable position, alternating that with propping
himself up to stare, unseeing, at the television. But nothing had
worked. The visions evoked by the day's events simply had not
left him alone.
Memorial Day. A little over two and a half weeks away. He'd known
about this threat for years; could it actually be about to happen?
He'd felt himself being overwhelmed by a dreamy sense of unreality,
as if he'd been falling from a great height and now the ground was
finally rushing up to meet him. It all seemed so abrupt; it was
hard to remember that the events leading to this moment had been
building for more than half a century.
And that his own father had contributed to bringing it all to pass.
His mind had skittered hastily away from that line of thought.
That was what had led him to the brink of disaster in Diana's
apartment in February, and he couldn't afford to let it happen
again. There was too much at stake now, and too little time. He
had to maintain a grip on himself; he had to stay in control.
A part of him deep down inside, the part that just wanted to give
up and die, was screaming against any attempt at self-control.
That part yearned for the darkness, wanted to embrace the darkness
and be embraced by it. As recently as 36 hours ago, after the bee
attack at the Riverwalk in Columbus, that part had ruled him. But
not anymore.
Not since Scully had thrown him a lifeline.
Scully. Just the thought of her was enough to make him abandon the
memories of his fatalistic tendencies and bring him back to the
present. It had worked earlier that morning, allowing him to doze
for nearly a half-hour.
And it worked again now.
He briefly took his eyes off the road to glance at her as she
dozed in the passenger seat next to him. Her window was cracked
slightly open, and the breeze gently ruffled her hair as a lover's
fingers might. Her features were calm and relaxed, and a slight
smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
He wondered what she was dreaming about.
She had come to him around dawn that morning, not saying a word as
she slipped into his room like a shadow and slid into bed next to
him. He had not questioned her presence, just gathered her into
his arms and held her. Neither moved nor spoke, and he simply lay
quietly, listening to her breathing and her heartbeat.
At length her body had begun to shake, but still she had made no
sound, and he had cuddled her in a little closer, matching her
silence with his own as she buried her face against his shoulder
and wept.
Finally she had seemed to wind down, and within a few moments more
they had both fallen sound asleep.
"It's the next left."
Mulder was jerked back to the present again, this time by the
sound of Andy's voice. His eyes flicked briefly at the rearview
mirror, and he saw that the reporter was now awake and leaning a
little forward, her hands resting lightly on the back of his seat.
Mulder nodded in acknowledgement of her instructions and powered
the car through the turn she'd indicated.
Two more turns and fifteen minutes later he brought the vehicle to
a halt in the parking lot of the Great Lakes Shipwreck Historical
Museum.
==========
6:31 p.m.
Scully inhaled deeply as she stepped from the car and into the
misty air of the lakeshore, only partly in an effort to shake off
the last vestiges of sleep. She turned immediately toward the
water, drawn as if mesmerized by the sound of the waves gently
lapping against the rocks.
She had always loved the water, in every form, and the lack of salt
in the air here did nothing to lessen the feeling of calm she felt,
simply from looking out across the wind-chopped water. She was the
child of a sailor, Starbuck to his Ahab; and whenever her soul
needed restoration, she was always drawn to the shore.
The circumstances of this trip might be different, but the effect
was the same.
She heard Mulder walking up behind her, could feel his eyes on her
before they shifted to look out across the lake. His large hands
settled gently on her shoulders, rubbing her stiff muscles
lightly, and she smiled.
His head dipped lower and he murmured, "Beautiful" in her ear
before moving to rest his chin on top of her head. She was about to
respond when he continued, "And the lake's nice, too."
Her smile widened briefly into an abashed grin before she brought
it under control. She lifted her right hand to her left shoulder,
slipping her hand into his, and turned to face him. He kept his
free hand on her as she moved, dragging his fingers along her back,
then sliding them down her arm to grasp her other hand.
He was smiling gently at her when she met his eyes. "You should
live on the shore," he said softly. "You're in your element here,
aren't you?"
Scully chuckled lightly and squeezed his hands, glancing back over
her shoulder at the water. "I guess I am," she said.
She released his hands just as Andy joined them, holding the huge
road atlas they'd bought at the Sault Ste. Marie airport when they
landed.
"Okay, Wonderboy, what now?" Andy asked. She'd adopted the teasing
nickname for Mulder during the flight up from Detroit, after
hearing a few of Scully's comments about his often bizarre but
usually correct leaps of logic. Scully knew Mulder had been a
little wary when Andy had first used the moniker, so used to
hearing derogatory comments from other agents. But he'd soon
recognized Andy's teasing as good-natured, and he'd come up with
his own rejoinder.
"I don't know, *Mon Capitaine*," he shot back, grinning. "Any
suggestions from the peanut gallery would be greatly appreciated."
Scully couldn't help it. She laughed out loud, and two pairs of
eyes, one hazel and one bright green, focused on her, then moved
to regard each other.
"What's up with her?" Andy asked, as if put off.
"Who ever knows what's up with *any* woman?" Mulder shot back with
a grin, reaching out to snatch the atlas from Andy's hand.
"Oh, you better watch it, Wonderboy; you're outnumbered," Andy
replied, her voice teasingly ominous. "And we're armed."
"Ooh, I'm scared," Mulder said, still grinning as he opened the
atlas, flipping pages until he found the section focused on the
Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Scully stepped up beside him as he
spread the book on the still-warm hood of the car and started
scanning the map intently.
Scully watched his eyes move for a moment before she spoke. "What
are you looking for?" she asked, curious.
"A clue," Mulder said absently, bringing up one finger to run
across the paper and following it with his eyes.
Andy was leaning over from his other side by then. "Like what?"
she said. "As far as I can tell, we've exhausted our clues. The
question and the song got us up here; what's left?"
Just then, Mulder's finger stopped. "A-ha," he said lightly. "A
clue."
Scully turned her attention to the map, then bent down and squinted
slightly to see what he was pointing out. His finger rested on a
small bay northeast of them, on the Canadian side, called
Batchawana Bay.
Scully looked up at Mulder, confused, but before she could ask,
Andy let out a short laugh, drawing both Scully's and Mulder's
gazes. "I get it," Andy said, her eyes dancing. "What that guy
said to you, right?"
"Yep," Mulder said, turning back to look at Scully. "'Betcha wanna
find them,' remember?"
Scully rolled her eyes in exasperation at herself. "Okay, so I'm
a little slow today," she said grudgingly. "Just the kind of thing
we expect from Krycek."
"Yep," Mulder repeated, planting his palms on either side of the
atlas and staring down at it again. "Question is, what do we do
about it now?"
"Ignore it."
The voice came from behind them, and the trio spun around in
concert, only to come face-to-face with Jeffrey Spender.
==========
6:48 p.m.
Mulder felt his eyes widen as he realized who had spoken. It was
one thing for Scully to have told him of Spender's visit the night
before; it was something else again to see the man standing in
front of him, whole and alive.
If it really *was* Spender.
For a few seconds no one moved or spoke, and Mulder found himself
studying the other man, trying to discern his identity. It
certainly *looked* like Spender -- the same thin, hawklike
features; the same understated chin; the same curly black hair ...
And yet there were changes, too. The man in front of him seemed
leaner and more self-assured than Mulder remembered, and there was
something hard and bitter in his eyes, something Mulder did not
remember seeing there before. That *could* just be a sign of rough
treatment, of course -- or it could mean --
"What the fuck are you doing here, punkass?" That was Andy,
breaking the silence and striding aggressively forward to invade
the newcomer's personal space. "I thought you'd said what you had
to say last night!"
Spender's lips quirked, and Mulder caught a flash of something he
could have sworn was admiration in the other man's eyes before
they flicked over to Scully. With a sour look on his face -- but
without giving ground, Mulder noted -- Spender asked,
sarcastically, "Can't you put a muzzle on this thing?"
Mulder didn't even try to follow what happened next. Andy and
Spender went down together in a flurry of arms and legs, and when
the action slowed a few seconds later Spender was lying prone, with
Andy straddling his hips and grinding his face into the dirt.
Part of Mulder wanted to cheer -- even as another part of him
almost felt sorry for the poor bastard.
"The next time you got something to say to me, punkass, you say it
to *me*," Andy snapped, leaning down so that her mouth was only
inches from Spender's ear. "You got that?" She waited a few
seconds, and when he didn't answer she jerked his head sharply up
by the hair, and then slammed it back down into the ground again --
not all that hard, but enough to make her point. "I asked you a
question, shithead!"
Spender hesitated a second longer, then nodded sharply -- but still he
did not speak. Andy reached carefully underneath his body with her
free hand and disarmed him, then climbed off him and backed away
slowly, covering him with his own weapon.
"You can get up now, Ferret Face," she said. "Oh, and if you've got
another one of those icepick thingames, just toss it on the ground;
it'll save me the trouble of taking you down again." She glanced
briefly at Scully, and added, "I thought you guys had to go through
Quantico. Punkass here wouldn't last three days at Parris Island."
"My name is Spender," the agent said angrily, glaring at Andy as
he struggled back to his feet and dusted himself off. "Former
Special Agent Jeffrey Spender, *Captain* Baker. And if you're
quite through showing us all how big your dick is, I do have some
business to transact."
Andy's eyes narrowed, and for an instant Mulder thought she was
going to attack again. But then she snorted and shook her head,
and ejected the clip from Spender's weapon.
She spun on her heel toward the water, and Mulder realized she was
barely keeping herself from scaling the gun out into the lake. She
paused a moment, then shot one last murderous look at Spender
before saying, "He's all yours, Wonderboy."
Mulder watched as she stuffed Spender's gun in the waistband of
her jeans, then turned and stalked over to stand next to Scully,
arms crossed in front of her chest. He looked at the two women for
just a moment longer. Andy was still fuming, and he could see that
Scully was struggling to keep a smile from her lips. Mulder didn't
know which had amused her more -- seeing Spender get his
comeuppance, or watching Andy's reactions to the other man.
Methinks the lady doth protest too much, he mused.
Finally, he set aside his thoughts and turned back to face the
other man. "So, Jeff," he said easily. "I see you took my advice
and enrolled in that Carnegie course."
Spender shook his head wearily. "Let's cut the crap, shall we
Mulder? None of us have time for this." He glanced quickly at
Scully and Andy and then back at Mulder. "I presume Agent Scully
gave you my message from last night."
Mulder nodded, then shrugged. "She gave it to me. What she didn't
tell me was why we should trust you -- or what we could do about it
even if we *did* believe you."
Spender rolled his eyes and took a step towards Mulder -- then
stopped abruptly as Andy moved sharply forward to cut him off.
"Jesus," he muttered under his breath. Then, to Mulder: "Look,
don't you people ever listen? I said follow the bodies. Follow the
fucking bodies. This ... " His voice trailed off, and he waved an
arm to take in the surroundings. "This is just a red herring.
You're following someone else's agenda." He locked eyes with
Mulder. "Again."
Mulder felt a prickle of anxiety at the accusation, but quickly
suppressed it. He couldn't afford to fall victim to self-doubt, he
reminded himself. Not now. Scully. Focus on Scully. He took a deep
breath and shook his head, but before he could speak Andy had
intervened, once again stepping up into Spender's personal space.
"'Follow the bodies,'" she mimicked. "'Follow the bodies!'" She
gave Spender a little shove, but again he stood his ground, and
his eyes flashed, with anger and maybe something else. "Tell me,
*former* Agent Spender," Andy continued. "You say we're following
someone else's agenda? Well what's *your* agenda?"
She shoved him again, and this time he staggered slightly.
For a moment Spender stood perfectly still, glaring at Andy and
making a visible effort to control his breathing. For her own part,
Andy seemed poised, almost as if she were spoiling for a fight,
leaning forward on the balls of her feet, arms held out slightly
from her sides.
As Mulder looked at them, he had a sudden sense of something akin
to deja vu. No, he hadn't lived this exact scene before, but he
*had* seen two people in a similar situation. As in, Scully and
him. On more than one occasion.
And he supressed another smile at the thought. He knew what lay
as the foundation of every heated discussion he and Scully had
ever had, and it wasn't hate, or even anger.
Passion, however ...
At last Spender broke the silence, shifted his attention away from
Andy and back to Mulder and Scully. "Look," he said, an undertone
of pleading seeping into his voice. "You have got to listen to me.
You are wasting your time up here, and you haven't got any to
spare. You have got to --"
"Why us, Spender?" Mulder glanced back as Scully spoke for the
first time, stepping forward and crossing her arms across her
chest. "You seem to be following us around, backseat driving our
investigation, telling us we're on the wrong track. Why us?
"Why don't *you* follow the bodies?"
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 14
==========
7:03 p.m.
When Spender didn't reply immediately, Scully pressed on, her
voice growing more sarcastic. "Come on, Spender, why aren't *you*
tracking the victims? You seem to have resources." She shrugged
one shoulder. "You certainly haven't had any trouble keeping an
eye on us. Surely you can find a few bee sting victims."
Spender shook his head. "Believe it or not, I don't really have
that many resources," he said quietly, his low tone a sharp
contrast to his previously confident air. "It's taking just about
everything I've got just to keep an eye on the two ..." -- his
eyes flicked to Andy, and he corrected himself -- "... *three* of
you. And I certainly don't have the contacts you do within the
government."
"You still haven't answered the question," Scully persisted. "Why
us? And what do you really expect us to do about all this?"
Spender sighed, then flicked his gaze around them, taking in the
surrounding area. "Listen," he said, his voice growing urgent.
"I'll tell you everything I know, but not here. We're too exposed.
We need to get under cover, and fast."
Almost against her will, Scully found herself looking around, as
Spender just had. They were in the middle of a large, open area,
the only cover nearby their car and the structure of the museum
itself a hundred yards away, the old lighthouse tower looming
above the building. The museum was closed anyway; the sign at the
entrance had listed the opening date for the season as May 15,
still two days away.
She swung her head back around to look at Mulder. "He's right,
Mulder," she said, forcing herself to push down the frisson of
pleasure that welled deep within her as his gaze locked onto hers
unerringly. "We're too exposed out here. We need to find some
place a little more secure to continue this," she said.
Mulder nodded slowly and turned toward Spender. "In the car," he
said, jerking his head in that direction.
Scully was almost surprised when Spender didn't speak, just
followed orders. And then she saw the expression on Andy's face,
and she ceased to wonder. The younger woman looked as if she'd
like nothing better than for Spender to give her a reason -- any
reason -- to take him down again.
Scully knew the look. She'd used it on Mulder enough, to get him
to back down. Only when it was important, of course, and it nearly
always worked, even early in their partnership.
Seemed as if Spender learned quickly, too.
The four were in the car in a matter of minutes, Spender and Andy
in the back, Mulder driving, Scully in the passenger seat. Scully
turned to the side to keep an eye on the man in the back, even
though she doubted Andy would need any assistance if he were to
try anything.
Mulder waited until they were off the museum grounds and back on
the road south to speak. "Okay, start talking," he said, glancing
at Spender in the rear view mirror.
Spender looked at Scully, and she merely raised an eyebrow. He
did not, she noticed, look at Andy.
"All right," Spender said, his eyes still on Scully. "I can't look
for the victims because I don't have access. I'm not even supposed
to be in contact with the two of you. You're not even supposed to
know I'm alive."
"Why not?" Scully prompted.
Spender sighed and closed his eyes, exhaustion and resignation
clearly written in the web of lines on his face. "You know
something happened in the basement," he said, his voice soft. "You
saw the blood; you know it was mine. But you don't know the whole
story. Hell, you don't know *any* of the story."
"So fill us in," Andy interjected. Her voice was closer to normal,
and Scully glanced at the younger woman.
Andy sat half-turned in the seat, her eyes intent on Spender's
face. She held her body rigidly, as if reining in her emotions to
keep herself from reacting. But her face was calm, and she seemed
more open to Spender's explanations than she had earlier, as if
her anger had been either sated or exhausted.
Scully nearly smiled in relief. She didn't know why Andy had
reacted so violently to Spender, but she hoped she was past it.
They needed to stay rational about this, and lashing out wasn't
helping anything.
She realized Spender was speaking again and focused on what he was
saying.
"He was in the office when I got down there, after I left that
meeting," Spender said, his eyes still closed. "He was sitting at
the desk, smoking, as usual. He said something cryptic about me
disappointing him, I don't know, I guess because once I realized
what was going on, I refused to go along with it. I told him to
get out, he stood up ... and he shot me."
Scully felt her eyebrows lift again, but before she could speak,
Mulder broke in. "And, what, you just walked out of there?"
Spender's eyes snapped open to meet Mulder's in the mirror. "Hell
no," he snapped in reply. "He shot me in the chest at point-blank
range. I wasn't walking *anywhere*."
Scully felt the hostility rising in the air again and tried to
diffuse it. "Okay," she said calmly. "Then what happened?"
Spender turned his gaze to her, then took a deep breath and
exhaled before answering. "I was on the floor ... and he just
stepped over me and left," he said, his voice dropping to a near-
whisper. "I was dying, and I knew it." He paused, then said, "But
then another man came through the door. He stood there and looked
at me for a minute, then came over and squatted down next to me.
He put his hand on my chest, right over the wound ... and then I
passed out."
Andy let out a snort of derision. "And when you woke up, it was
just like you'd never been shot," she said sarcastically.
For the first time since they'd gotten in the car, Spender swung
his head around and looked Andy in the eye. "That's exactly what
happened," he retorted. "I woke up in what I thought was a hospital
bed, with a hell of a headache but no chest wound. I thought at
first I'd dreamed the whole thing."
Mulder cut in this time. "What convinced you otherwise?" he asked.
Spender's gaze drifted back to meet Scully, and somehow, she knew
the answer before he spoke. "Because the first person I saw when
I opened my eyes was my mother."
==========
Southbound on Michigan State Highway 123
7:27 p.m.
At Spender's words Mulder's head snapped around, and for just an
instant he found himself staring the former agent full in the
face -- until the blare of a horn yanked his attention back to the
highway, and he had to swerve and brake sharply to avoid a head-on
collision. By the time he'd regained control of the car and resumed
his previous speed, Scully was speaking.
"Your mother? Cassandra? She's alive?"
Mulder wondered if anyone in the car other than himself could
detect the note of hope that underlay the overt disbelief in his
partner's voice. He knew that Scully and Cassandra had become close
during their brief acquaintance the previous year, and that their
friendship had been reinforced when Cassandra had resurfaced a few
months ago during the crisis leading up to the El Rico massacre.
He also knew how hard Scully had taken it when Cassandra had been
presumed dead after the slaughter at the air base -- and for the
first time in years Fox Mulder lifted a wholly sincere prayer:
That the woman he loved was not having her hopes raised without
good cause.
Spender, if it was really him, had better be telling the truth.
"That's right," Spender said, and in his mind's eye Mulder could
almost see the man nodding sharply. "She's alive. I'd like to say
she's well, but that's not entirely true."
"What do you mean?" Scully asked.
A mirthless chuckle came from the back seat. "My mother is fine,
Agent Scully. Physically fine. And she sends her regards -- or she
would have if she had known I was going to be here."
Spender fell silent, and Mulder took his eyes off the road long
enough to see that his partner was giving the other the cool,
expressionless gaze she usually reserved for suspects -- and then
he heard Andy stirring in the backseat, and the former agent was
speaking again.
"Physically, my mother is fine," Spender said. "In other ways,
she's not so great." He hesitated, then added, all in a rush, "To
put it bluntly, she's a prisoner."
Mulder glanced at Scully again, just in time to see her eyes widen
slightly. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Just what I said," the former agent replied, a note of irritation
in his voice. "She's a prisoner. And so am I, sort of." Before
anyone could interrupt he hurried on. "I told you she was the
first thing I saw when I woke up. What happened was that when
the ... killings ... happened at El Rico, she was spared. They
took her prisoner, instead. We don't really understand why, but
what we *do* understand is that they need her for some purpose of
their own. And because of that ..." His voice trailed off, and
when he resumed he spoke so quietly Mulder could barely hear him.
"Because of that, she was able to bargain for my life."
"Who are 'they'?" Andy asked, her voice floating forward from the
backseat. Mulder glanced in the mirror, and saw that the reporter
and Spender were now turned slightly towards each other.
"That's a difficult question to answer," the former agent replied.
"I don't know how much Mulder and Scully have told you --"
"They've told me enough," she replied, her voice surprisingly soft
to Mulder's ears. "They've told me about the shadow government,
and the plans for a takeover. And some other stuff. I haven't
decided how much of it I believe, though."
"You can believe it," Spender said, his voice flat and imperative.
"It's all true. And there's more: There's also a, a resistance
movement. Covert, of course. Partly human and partly ... not. The
resistance group works in opposition to the ones you've been told
about. Unfortunately, the motives and ultimate goals of the
resistance are not clear. But they're the ones who have my mother."
For a moment or two it was silent in the car, as each person seemed
to contemplate the significance of Spender's words. Mulder's
thoughts flew back to the previous year, and the events following
the mass killings at Ruskin Dam -- and he shuddered as he
remembered how close he had come to losing Scully that time.
Instinctively he reached out and took her hand and squeezed it
gently, and she squeezed back; a quick glance at her face told him
she was remembering the same things.
Mulder cleared his throat, and said, "Krycek said something to me
once about a resistance movement. Are these the same people?"
There was a snort of disgust from the back seat. "You cannot trust
*anything* you hear from Alex Krycek," came the reply. "But yes, he
was probably talking about the same group. As I said, it's a sort
of loose alliance between certain humans who are in the know and
have chosen not to cooperate with the Colonists, and another alien
species acting from motives no one really understands."
"Jesus," Andy said, very softly. "Just when I think I've heard it
all ..." Her voice trailed off, and Mulder could hear Spender
shifting in his seat again.
"Believe me, Captain Baker," the other man said, his own voice
softening to match hers. "This is just as hard for me to accept as
it is for you. Three months ago I didn't believe *any* of this. I
thought it was all crap -- and I wound up trusting the wrong people
and I did some pretty terrible things as a result."
There was another long silence, and when Mulder glanced over at
Scully he saw that she was watching whatever was happening in the
backseat with an intensity she normally reserved for the autopsy
suite.
At last: "Andy. My name is Andy."
==========
Border Crossing Motel
North of Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, Canada
10:41 p.m.
Scully shut the bathroom door behind her, dropping her clean
shorts, underwear and T-shirt on the closed toilet seat and moving
to turn on the water. She adjusted the temperature, gathered
towels, undressed and stepped into the bathtub and started washing,
all without conscious thought.
Her mind was elsewhere. Too much had happened over the past four
days, and she was still trying to process it all.
Right now, her mind was still stuck on hope -- hope that Spender
was telling the truth about his mother being alive, mainly. She was
still justifiably wary of the former agent and his motives, but she
somehow doubted he'd lie about Cassandra. Through everything that
had happened, his love for his mother had never wavered.
She still wanted to see Cassandra, of course, to believe it. After
the discovery of the burned bodies at El Rico, she had been
convinced that the woman had died with others. She'd been taken
from her bed at Fort Marlene, without her son's knowledge or
consent, and she hadn't been seen since.
Scully's eyes closed as she recalled her -- and Mulder's -- frantic
attempts to rescue Cassandra, going so far as to stand in the way
of a freight train. When they'd finally made it to El Rico, it had
been too late.
But if Cassandra was alive ...
Scully shook her head. Whether Cassandra was alive or not mattered,
but it wasn't crucial to their investigation at this point. The
rest of what Spender had told them, however, was.
Scully believed her recovered memories from Ruskin Dam now -- or,
at least, some of them. She's said as much to Mulder before they
spoke to Cassandra in the hospital. She'd seen the "faceless men"
with their flamethrowers, and seen the carnage at Skyland Mountain
and El Rico firsthand.
But she had thought those men were the enemies. Now she was being
told that they were on the same side, despite theIr unsavory
methods. Cassandra had said something to that effect, but somehow
it was more convincing to hear the same information coming from
the mouth of someone who not so long ago was even more of a skeptic
than Scully had ever been.
Scully sighed and forced herself to stop thinking as she rinsed
the last of the cheap motel soap off her body and shut off the
water. The four of them were in two tiny, adjoining rooms in
another rundown local motel, and Mulder had gone out to get dinner
while Scully showered, leaving Andy to keep an eye on Spender.
None of them trusted him enough yet to leave him completely
unguarded.
When Scully had headed into the bathroom, Andy and Spender were
sitting on the room's two beds, on opposite sides, and Andy had
been flipping through the half-dozen channels on the television.
Scully didn't know what to expect when she emerged -- the same
scene, the aftermath of a fistfight ... or a makeout session in
progress.
Scully shook her head, her mouth twisting into a wry grin. She
knew full well what was happening between those two. She didn't
know how far it would go, or if it was simple infatuation or the
start of something deeper. But Andy and Spender were undeniably
attracted to one another, whether they liked it or not. Not that
Scully was complaining; at least it meant they weren't at each
other's throats every second any more.
Dried and dressed, Scully made a little extra noise opening the
door just in case and stepped out of the steamy room. Looked like
option number one; the pair were still sitting on opposite sides
of the beds, although the remote had been discarded and they were
talking in low voices.
Andy looked up and grinned. "Feel better, Dana?" she asked in a
teasing tone.
"Much," Scully replied, flopping into the one straight-backed chair
in the room. "Your turn."
"Good," Andy said, hopping up and grabbing her own change of
clothes from the top of the dresser. She turned toward the
bathroom, then paused and glanced back over her shoulder. "You
guys save me some dinner, now," she said, though she was looking
only at Spender, who smiled at her in response.
Scully bit back another grin as Andy disappeared into the bathroom.
Before she could even come up with something to say to Spender,
though, she heard a noise in the next room and was instantly on
alert.
"Mulder?" she called, picking up her holster from the edge of the
dresser and sliding her weapon out. "Is that you?"
"Mmmmph," came the reply, and Mulder walked in, two bags in one
hand, a drink holder in the other, and a third bag clamped in his
mouth.
Scully laughed as she set her gun down and walked over to help him.
"You could have made two trips, or gotten one of us to help, you
know," she chided lightly.
Mulder shrugged. "Hey, I made it, didn't I?" he said, his eyes
roaming the room before landing back on her. "Where's Andy?"
"Shower," Scully said, setting the drinks on the dresser.
Mulder's eyes flicked back over to Spender. "You gonna run out on
us?" he asked.
Scully looked at Mulder, then realized what he wanted -- a few
minutes alone. She glanced at Spender, raising an eyebrow.
Spender got it. "No," he said shortly.
Mulder hesitated, as if uncertain, then nodded once and grabbed one
of the bags. "Yours and Andy's," he said to Spender, nodding at the
remaining bags. "We'll be back when we're through."
Spender nodded, and Mulder looked back at Scully, who was already
holding two of the drinks. He offered a half-smile and stepped to
the side to allow her past, his hand falling to the small of her
back as they crossed into the other room.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 15
==========
Border Crossing Motel
North of Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, Canada
11:08 p.m.
For a moment the two partners stood just inside the closed
connecting door, and Mulder was suddenly acutely aware both of the
woman standing next to him, and of the two beds which filled most
of the room. He cleared his throat, trying to find some witty
comment to make, but before he could speak he felt Scully's body
shift slightly under his touch, and he thought better of it.
He looked down at his partner and saw that she was already looking
up at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "This is
pretty silly, isn't it?" he offered.
She nodded, and her smile broadened. "Yep."
Mulder nodded in return, and despite continuing feelings of
awkwardness he applied slightly greater pressure to her lower back
and guided her over to the small table next to the window. He
quickly and efficiently laid out two cheeseburgers and a package of
French fries for himself, and a chef's salad for Scully. Without
looking up from these arrangements he took the two drinks from her
and added them to the impromptu place settings.
For a moment or two he fiddled nervously with the food, trying to
concentrate on it rather than on the woman standing less than a
foot away. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly so jittery; this was
no different from what they had done countless times in the past,
in countless motels scattered around the country.
But it *was* different.
At last he took a deep breath and turned to look at his partner.
She was standing just slightly closer to him than he was accustomed
to, looking back at him with an expression that could only be
described as amused nervousness.
For another moment or two they both remained motionless, and Mulder
tried to think of something to say that would move the moment
forward again. But it was Scully who finally broke the silence.
"You know," she said, seeming to choose her words very carefully,
"when I was little my father always used to give my mother a kiss
before everyone sat down for dinner each night. It was sort of a
family ritual."
Mulder swallowed and nodded. "A kiss, huh?"
"Yeah."
He smiled, and said, "Well we wouldn't want to let that tradition
go by the boards, now would we?" And he took her in his arms and
kissed her, and for a moment the rest of the world went away.
After a timeless interval their lips parted, but they did not
release each other, and Mulder found himself falling into her eyes.
He could get lost in those eyes, he realized, and he marveled that
it had taken him so long to discover that.
Finally Scully stirred slightly in his arms and he let her go, and
they sat down at the table to eat.
The first part of the meal passed in silence, as each of them
concentrated on the food in front of them. As Mulder had expected,
Scully stole nearly half of his French fries, a tradition that
stretched back to the first year of their partnership, and which
he'd become so accustomed to that he now barely noticed it --
except, of course, that he noticed everything about Scully.
At last she pushed the remains of her salad away and leaned back
and stretched. Returning her hands to rest on the table in front of
her, she said, "So. What do we do now?"
Mulder smiled. "Are we talking about the case?"
She smiled back, a happier and more mirthful smile than he could
remember seeing on her face in years, and said, "Yeah, Mulder --
the case. What's our next step?"
He shrugged. "Batchawana Bay, I guess. First thing in the morning.
It's not like we have leads coming out of our ears."
She chewed her lower lip for a moment, as if she were trying to
think how to phrase something. Finally she shook her head. "It's
not enough, Mulder," she said. Before he could reply, she hurried
on, "I don't mean we shouldn't check out Batchawana; we're here,
and it *is* the obvious thing to do, and it won't take very long."
She took a deep breath, and continued, "But it *isn't* enough,
Mulder. We need more. And I'm beginning to suspect Spender may be
right -- that we *are* being led on a wild goose chase. I mean,
suppose we go out to Batchawana Bay and suppose we do find C.G.B.
Spender and Agent Fowley. What will that give us, really? Do you
think they're just going to tell us what we want to know?"
Mulder shook his head. "No. So what do you suggest?"
Scully shrugged. "I don't know. What Spender said, I guess: Follow
the bodies."
"Easier said than done," Mulder replied. Then something clicked,
and he cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. Maybe he
really hadn't been getting enough sleep.
Without explanation, he pulled out his cell phone and punched
speed dial number three.
==========
11:31 p.m.
It took Scully about three seconds to catch up with what, exactly,
Mulder was doing. She'd seen what number he'd punched, and it took
her brain that long to remember that the first two programs on the
phone were her home and cell numbers. And that the Gunmen were
number three.
Shit. She couldn't believe both of them had forgotten to call the
Gunmen back.
Mulder was talking by then, apparently to Frohike. "Yeah, we're
fine. It just hit me that we never called you guys back." He
glanced at Scully and grinned briefly. "We were hoping you might
have something by now."
He lifted the phone away from his ear as soon as he finished
speaking, and Scully could hear Frohike's indignant voice. "Have
*something*? Man, we could have gotten you every single military
flight in the country by now. What do you think we are?"
Scully stifled a chuckle, and Mulder was still smiling as he
brought the phone back to his ear. "Calm down, Frohike," he said.
"I was just yanking your chain. So what DID you find out?"
Mulder tucked the phone against his shoulder and looked up at
Scully, pantomiming writing. She nodded and stood, stepping over
to the dresser to dig Mulder's pad and pen out of his overnight
bag. She handed them to him, then automatically started cleaning
up the remnants of their meal as Mulder listened and scribbled.
The conversation lasted a good fifteen minutes, but Mulder did
very little talking, so Scully didn't get many clues. She was
getting impatient by the time he finally ended the call, and she
jumped in as soon as he punched "end."
"Well?" she demanded, sliding back into the seat across from him.
Mulder grinned at her, but his eyes were distant as he spoke.
"Eager, aren't we," he said, his voice not quite achieving the
casual, teasing tone he was apparently trying for.
She frowned at him in warning. "Mulder ..."
"Okay, okay," he said, lifting one hand as if fending her off, then
leaning forward in his seat, one hand idly twirling the pen he
still held between his fingers. "Here's what they found out, so
far. Numerous flight paths from both Columbus and Cedar Rapids,
heading north, apparently ending up at Camp Grayling, a National
Guard reservation in north central Michigan. More flights from
there, all heading generally northeast. Many, many more flights in
all three cases than the airfields would normally see."
Scully nodded. "And from there ...?"
Mulder shrugged, his eyes intent on her face. "Nothing," he said.
"All those flights disappear from the records after Grayling. They
dug up some air traffic control records showing them on Toronto
radar, and then nothing after that. They're working on some
projected flight paths based on last-known speed and trajectory,
but that's gonna take a while."
He paused, as if hesitant to say what came next, but one sharp
look from Scully seemed to free his tongue. "There's more," he
acknowledged. "Grayling has been receiving increased traffic not
only from Iowa and Georgia but also from farther west. Oregon, it
looks like. Frohike said they're running several online searches,
using some of the same keywords your search did, to find anything
similar in the Northwest."
Scully felt a leaden weight settle low in her stomach. "Another
attack?" she asked.
Mulder nodded slowly. "It looks that way," he said. "Probably
another ballpark and a similar coverup to the two we've already
seen." He dropped the pen and picked up the notebook, flipping
back a few pages. "I wish we could have gotten our hands on any of
those medical records," he said. "Or a victim. Even a bee.
Something to do some testing ..."
His voice trailed off, and his eyes shot up to meet Scully's. She
saw the same gleam in his eyes she knew he could see in hers, and
she grinned.
"I seem to remember something about a bee," she said, putting on
a falsely casual tone. "I believe I have it in my briefcase, if
I'm not mistaken."
Mulder chuckled briefly. "Maybe we really DO need to start getting
more sleep," he said, shaking his head. "I can't believe we forgot
about that, too."
"Me either," Scully said, sobering. "And we were going to test my
blood, too, and yours, to check for similarities -- antibodies, if
we're lucky -- since we've both been given the vaccine."
Mulder nodded again, using his teeth to pull one corner of his
bottom lip into his mouth. "So we need to find a lab, get the
blood samples, and get them somewhere trustworthy for testing," he
said musingly. "I'd say the Gunmen would be the best bet; I don't
know if I trust the Bureau labs with this. Or we could do both,
although we only have the one bee."
"The question is, how do we get the samples to DC?" Scully asked.
"I wouldn't want to ship them; anything could happen en route. But
we can't very well pick up and go back to DC in the middle of
this."
"No, not now," Mulder agreed. He hesitated, deep in thought, then
went on. "I don't think that's the most crucial thing at the
moment," he said. "The primary goal of that kind of testing would,
I assume, be to develop a vaccine. That's going to take time, no
matter what, and I don't believe a day or two will make that much
difference. What we're tracking now is much more immediate, and we
do have a deadline -- if we can believe what Jeffy in there tells
us."
Scully leaned back in her chair. "I agree," she said softly. "A
vaccine would in all likelihood take much longer than two weeks
to develop, and distribution would be a nightmare. Not to mention
proving that the virus actually exists and is a true threat. We
don't have time for that now. If we get past this, *then* we can
worry about the vaccine."
"Okay," Mulder said. "So we hold off at least a couple days on the
samples, and stick to our plan for tomorrow." He shot her another,
slightly lopsided, grin. "Anything else we have to work out
tonight?"
Scully arched one eyebrow. "Yeah," she said. "Call Skinner."
==========
Thursday, May 13, 1999
2:11 a.m.
Mulder leaned back against the headboard of his bed and flicked
through the channels on the TV remote. His partner lay curled up
on the bed next to him, her arms wrapped loosely around his waist
and her head resting against his hip. She was sound asleep.
They'd talked for a few more minutes after the phone conversation
with Frohike, but reached no further conclusions, other than to
decide that there was nothing of such urgency that it would justify
calling the A.D. at home when it was nearly midnight. That call
could safely be deferred until morning.
Scully had then gone into the adjoining motel room, intending to
kick Spender out and go to bed -- but she'd returned only seconds
later, a wry look on her face.
"They're asleep," she'd announced. "Both of them."
Instinctively, he'd shot her a muted leer. "Separate beds?"
"Yes, separate beds," she'd said, rolling her eyes before focusing
back on him, her demeanor serious but a little edgy. "Do you think
I should wake them?" she'd asked.
It had taken Mulder only a few seconds to realize what question she
was really asking, and he'd cleared his throat and asked, "Do you
want to sleep in here?"
Scully had nodded solemnly, and without another word she'd climbed
into bed, curled up next to him and dropped off to sleep in less
than a minute.
Mulder had been sorely tempted to join his partner in slumber, but
something had told him that the investigation had reached the stage
where it would be prudent for someone to stay awake through the
night. And so he'd settled down and started flicking through the
channels. But the television had failed to hold his interest, as
inevitably his thoughts strayed back to the investigation.
Oregon. Another attack in Oregon. He'd been shocked by Frohike's
news, and he could tell that Scully had been shaken, too. In
retrospect he knew they should have been expecting it; the
Colonists -- or their human allies -- had been ruthlessly efficient
in covering their tracks, and the agents should have anticipated
that there might have been additional incidents which had been
completely hushed up.
But still he had been shocked.
Why had he ever thought that they really had a handle on this case?
Let alone been in some sort of control? It was becoming clearer
with each new lead they unearthed that Scully had nailed the
situation perfectly when she'd said that perhaps Spender was right
after all, and that maybe the two of them *were* being led around
by the nose.
It was almost like the final minutes of a football game, he mused,
with the team in the lead simply trying to run out the clock.
He was drawn from his reverie by a slight motion at his side, and
he looked down in the gloom to see that Scully's eyes now were
open, and she was looking up at him. But her gaze seemed oddly
unfocused, almost as if she was not really seeing him -- or as if
she did not recognize who he was, if she *did* see him.
Mulder hesitated a moment, hoping that she would close her eyes and
go back to sleep, but she continued to stare at him. After a few
more seconds he gently stroked her hair and whispered, "Shhh. It's
okay. It's just me. You must have had a dream or something."
His partner's brow furrowed, as if she were concentrating on his
words, trying to parse out their meaning. At last she slowly shook
her head, and finally her eyes cleared. She licked her lips, and
when she spoke her voice was rough with sleep ... and something
else.
"Mulder?"
"Yeah, Scully. It's me." He continued stroking her hair, letting
his fingers run gently through the silky tresses, trying to soothe
her with his touch. "It was just a dream, Scully."
She shook her head again, and then struggled to a sitting position.
"I ... I don't think it was," she replied, her voice a little
stronger. She sat next to him on the bed, staring up at him
intently for another minute or two, taking slow, shallow breaths.
At last her gaze drifted away, until it fell on the door to the
outside -- and Mulder felt a chill race down his spine as her hand
slowly rose to the back of her neck.
"Mulder," she whispered -- and now there was an edge of fear in her
voice. "Mulder ... I, I think it's happening again." Her eyes flew
back to meet his. "Like last year. At Ruskin Dam."
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 16
==========
2:38 a.m.
No sooner had the words left Scully's mouth than Mulder's hand
wrapped around her wrist in a just-short-of-bruising grip. Her
eyes widened, but the blend of terror and determination she saw
in his eyes cut off the protest she'd been about to make.
"You're not going anywhere," he rasped out. "They're gonna have to
come through me first."
Scully's heart pounded against her ribcage, and her free hand
shook as she lifted it to rest atop his fingers where they held
her in place. But her voice was steady and soothing as she spoke.
"No, Mulder," she said. "It's okay. I can feel it, but it's ...
it's weak. Like I'm out of range or something. Just the fact that
I can even tell you about it, that I'm conscious of it at all, is
enough to keep it from ... from controlling me."
Mulder's eyes never left her face, but he gradually relaxed, his
hold on her arm loosening but not releasing entirely. His rapid
breathing began to slow, and he closed his eyes and took one long,
deep breath before fixing his gaze back on her.
"Okay," he said, his voice clearer. "I ... I guess we should have
expected this. If they're restocking ..."
"... then it makes sense to bring in people they've already had,"
Scully finished matter-of-factly. "They know them, they have
records on them, they can be contacted easily ..." Her voice
trailed off as another thought crept in. "And maybe ..." She
looked up at Mulder. "Maybe there's more to it."
Her mind raced as the idea took hold. "Mulder, we've both been
exposed to this virus -- Purity, or whatever it is. But we had
very different reactions to it. I thought it was because you were
given a vaccine before you were exposed. But what if ..."
"What if it's the implant," he finished for her, his gaze sharp.
"The implants, or the experiments, or some combination, weren't
just meant to develop hybrids. They were designed to prepare hosts,
by activating the ordinarily inactive DNA in all humans."
Scully's skin crawled, but she nodded slowly. "And not just to take
control," she said. "But to ... gestate. That's the difference.
People without implants, like you, and ... well, Krycek, at least
back then ... the virus just takes control of them. But the ones
with implants, like ... like me ..."
She couldn't even finish the statement, but she didn't have to.
Mulder knew, she could tell. Knew what she was saying, and why she
couldn't say it.
They simply sat and stared at each other in shock for a few long
moments, Mulder's hand still wrapped around her wrist. When he
finally spoke again, his voice was raw, as if he'd been screaming.
"We need to call Skinner," he said. "We could be looking at another
massacre. But I think it's more likely it'll be different this
time."
Scully's forehead creased in confusion. "What else would it be?"
she asked.
Mulder's other hand came up to take her free hand, lightly
intertwining their fingers. "A group abduction," he said gently.
"That's what Krycek said they'd do. Mass abductions of former
abductees shortly before colonization began. And if they're looking
for hosts -- restocking, like we said -- then it makes perfect
sense."
Scully didn't nod, but didn't shake her head either. Instead, in a
small voice, she simply asked, "Then what do we do about it?"
And she could tell from the look on his face that Mulder didn't
have any more idea than she did.
==========
3:05 a.m.
Mulder punched the disconnect on his cell phone and set it on the
nightstand, just as Scully reappeared in the connecting doorway to
the other motel room.
"How'd it go?" she asked.
"Not too bad," he replied, trying to suppress the sense of relief
he felt at seeing her again. She'd only gone to the next room to
wake the others and get everything packed up, he reminded himself.
She'd also reassured him before she went that the strange
compulsion had already faded out completely -- and that it had
never been very strong in the first place.
But he hadn't been able to keep himself from worrying, which had
made it difficult to concentrate during his conversation with the
A.D.
He rose from the bed, walked over to her, and wordlessly gave
her a hug, as much for his own peace of mind as anything else.
Scully returned the embrace, and for a moment they just held each
other before she finally pulled back a little and looked up at him.
"So what did he say?" she asked, picking up their conversation as
if nothing had happened.
Mulder sighed. "He wants us to come back to D.C.," he replied. "I
managed to put him off for one more day, but he absolutely,
positively insists that we catch the first flight Friday morning.
He said he'd put Research on the job of trying to track down
evidence of additional attacks, starting with Oregon." He smiled
slightly. "I sort of forgot to mention that we'd bumped into Jeff
Spender. I figured that would just distract him."
Scully chuckled and shook her head in mock exasperation, then
closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest for a moment.
"I swear, Mulder," she murmured, "you get in more trouble than a
classroom full of eight year olds." But her affectionate tone
belied the admonition.
Mulder laughed with her, but then he grew serious again, and he
hesitantly raised one hand to lightly touch the back of her neck.
"Scully? It really has stopped, hasn't it?"
She opened her eyes and lifted her head from his chest to look up
at him again. "Yes, Mulder," she said softly. "Yes. It's stopped.
And it was never very strong to begin with, and I promise I'll tell
you the minute I feel the slightest twinge, okay?" She reached up
to caress his cheek. "I'm very nearly as scared of this as you are."
He dropped his hand from her neck and drew her into a tight
embrace. "God, I hope not," he said, his words muffled against her
hair. "Because I'm fucking terrified."
He stopped speaking for a minute to get his breathing under
control. Then: "I can't lose you, Scully. I just can't. You're the
only thing left in my life that matters, and you have been for quite
awhile now. I can't lose you," he repeated, as if by saying it over
he could somehow keep it from happening.
"You're not going to lose me, Mulder," she said, her voice
resonating against his chest. "I've told you before, but I'll tell
you as many times as necessary: I'm here, and I'm not going
anywhere. Not without you, at any rate.
"And that's a promise."
==========
Northbound on Ontario Provincial Highway 17
North of Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario
4:23 a.m.
It had taken longer than Mulder had liked to get everyone organized,
fed and on the road again, but at least they were finally moving.
Sunrise was still nearly two hours away, according to the morning
paper, and even allowing for the delay they'd be able to reach
Batchawana Bay before then.
"Now that we're on the road, can someone please tell me why you
dragged me out of my warm, soft bed at this godawful hour?" Andy's
sleepy voice came floating forward out of the backseat.
Mulder chuckled as Scully turned to look back at the reporter. "We
got a call from our boss," she said. "We'd sort of been neglecting
to keep him informed of our whereabouts, and he's given us 24 hours
to finish up here and get back to D.C. to report in."
"Bureaucrats," Andy mumbled. "How fucking typical. The end of the
world is at hand, and they still want all the proper forms filled
out."
Scully laughed. "It's not really that bad," she replied. She
glanced briefly at Mulder, and then turned to the back again.
"Besides, we have other reasons why it's desirable that at least
one of us make the trip back. It'll probably just be for a single
day, and then we'll be back on the trail again."
Mulder's grip on the wheel tightened a little at the thought that
perhaps only one of them would return to Washington. That was a
compromise which Scully had suggested while they were still getting
ready to leave the motel, and he was not at all happy with the
idea, and had told her so. The matter remained unresolved.
He and Scully had also discussed the question of whether to
tell Andy and Spender about the compulsion which had awakened Scully
in the middle of the night. At length they had decided to keep it to
themselves for the time being, since they still didn't really trust
Spender, and their cramped circumstances would have made it
difficult to find the opportunity to explain it to Andy in
confidence.
"So how is A.D. Skinner?" Spender asked. His tone seemed casual,
but Mulder thought he detected an underlying edge to the question.
"He's fine," Mulder replied briefly, keeping his eyes on the road.
"Just sitting up catching a late movie on AMC and decided to call
his two favorite agents at two o'clock in the morning, huh?" the
younger man persisted.
Mulder reminded himself that the former agent was not stupid;
stupid people didn't get appointed to the Bureau, by and large.
But that meant this wasn't going to be an easy conversation.
"He'd received a call from Research," Scully said. Mulder glanced
briefly at her in surprise. "It seems that there's some evidence of
a third bee attack, this time in Oregon. They haven't narrowed it
down any further than that, though."
"Oregon," Spender repeated, and out of the corner of his eye Mulder
saw Scully nod. "And this came from the Bureau's research unit, and
Skinner passed it on to you." She nodded again. "And naturally this
caused the A.D. to ask you to return to Washington for a
face-to-face."
Mulder suppressed the desire to swear under his breath.
"Actually, the two were unrelated," Scully said smoothly. "He said
he'd intended to call us home in any case, but the news of the
third attack made him decide he should contact us immediately." She
turned to look at Mulder. "And I must say I agree, don't you,
Mulder?"
Mulder smiled at her, secure in the knowledge that Spender couldn't
see his face. "Well, I can't say I'm happy about it, Scully; I'd
much rather continue to pursue the leads we've got in the field.
Time is so desperately short, after all. But taking a day trip to
D.C. probably won't be a bonebreaker."
"You people are unbelievable," Spender said, and Mulder was
relieved that he now heard nothing but annoyance in the man's
voice. "Everything -- and I do mean *everything* -- is about to
come crashing down around us, and you're all still playing
bureaucratic games."
There didn't seem to be anything to say to that, so Mulder didn't
try, but simply pushed down on the accelerator a little harder. A
few minutes later they were pulling into Batchawana Bay Provincial
Park.
==========
4:59 a.m.
The park was dark and apparently deserted as Mulder navigated the
rental car along the winding roads. All four of the car's
inhabitants were avidly searching the surrounding woods with their
eyes, hoping for some flash of light or sign of movement to give
them direction. The narrow road ran right along the northeast side
of the bay, and the thick fog lifting from the surface of the water
didn't help matters.
Soon, though, they passed a narrow drive that headed slightly
southwest, back toward the water. Without saying a word, Mulder
pulled the car off the road and as close to the trees alongside as
he could.
"I guess that means we're here, wherever the hell 'here' is."
Spender's sarcastic comment was the first thing said in the car
since his outburst fifteen minutes earlier.
"Call it a hunch," Mulder muttered, flicking his seatbelt open and
climbing from the car.
Scully followed, striding around the front of the car to meet him
at the edge of the road. He stood facing the driveway, hands on
hips, chewing lightly on his bottom lip.
"They're up there, Scully," he said firmly. "I know it."
Scully felt the arguments welling up in her throat -- We can't
know that, Mulder ... There's no evidence of that ... -- but she
forced them back down.
"Okay," she said softly.
His head swung around, his eyes locking onto hers. She held
perfectly still, carefully keeping her face calm, allowing her
eyes to tell him what he needed to know.
She saw his shoulders lower just slightly as some of the tension
left his body, and he nodded twice, one corner of his mouth lifting
slightly. She returned the small smile, reaching out with her left
hand to run her fingers along his right forearm before turning
back toward the car.
Andy was leaning against the back fender of the car, looking in the
same direction Mulder had been. Spender was still sitting in the
car, turned sideways in the seat, his long legs stretched out with
his heels resting against the grass. Scully couldn't see his face
at first, but then he leaned a little further forward, and she
caught a glimpse of his eyes ... focused on Andy.
Interesting ...
Shaking that line of thought aside -- no time for that now --
she reached to her hip to check her weapon, still nestled snugly
against the waistband of her jeans. Her movement caught Andy's eye,
and the other woman imitated her actions, her holster sitting a few
inches further forward.
And then Spender followed suit, and Scully wondered for what seemed
like the hundredth time whether giving him his weapon back had been
the smart thing to do. They couldn't in good conscience have let
him go into the field unarmed, but still ...
Scully turned back to Mulder, just as he glanced down at her
again. Their eyes held for another long moment, and then Scully
spoke, lifting her voice so that her words would carry to the other
two, as well.
"Let's go," she said sharply, striding forward. Mulder was beside
her before she'd gone three steps, and she left it to Andy to get
Spender on the move, too.
==========
5:13 a.m.
The group kept close to the trees as they followed the deeply-
grooved trail farther into the woods, the fog thickening around
them as they moved. Scully's eyes had adjusted to the dimness
quickly, although she could see the first glow of morning beginning
to rise in the east.
Even with the growing light, though, they were almost caught off
guard by the sudden end of the drive. The treeline simply stopped,
leaving a small clearing, and Scully pulled up, Mulder bumping
into her lightly with a soft "oof."
"Sorry," she murmured, searching the clearing for signs of light.
She couldn't see anything at first, but then she caught a dim flash
out of the corner of her eye, directly ahead of them and slightly
to the right. Concentrating, she detected the outline of a
structure in the center of the clearing; the light was coming from
one side of it.
Motioning the others back with one arm, she backed up into the
trees, moving them several feet away before she spoke, softly.
"There's a building of some kind there, with a light on, to the
west side," she said, speaking primarily to Andy and Spender.
"Mulder and I will approach the building, with you two staying
back to cover us."
"Right," Mulder agreed. "If it's who we think it is, they don't
know Andy, and they probably think Spender's dead. In either case,
they're more likely to shoot first and ask questions later."
Andy nodded. "Fine," she said. "I'll set up at the edge of the
drive, and Jeff can move a few yards to the west, closer to where
you saw the light."
Scully flashed a quick look around, getting nods from the other
three, then turned back toward the clearing.
She stayed close to the trees, Mulder two steps behind her, until
she could see the structure more clearly. It was small, apparently
a rustic cabin, with the flickering light apparently coming from
a lantern sitting near a window. What looked like a sport-utility
vehicle of some kind sat to the side, previously hidden by the
building.
Scully slowed and came to a stop directly in front of the cabin,
the fog having cleared enough that she could make out movement
inside. She was about to turn to Mulder and signal for them to
approach, when the cabin door flew open and Diana Fowley stormed
out onto the porch.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 17
==========
5:25 a.m.
For a moment Mulder stood perfectly still, staring at his former
lover as she stalked across the porch and down the steps to the
parked vehicle. As he continued to watch, she popped open the
back of the car and threw in the suitcase she'd been carrying.
Mulder's thoughts were in a whirl. The last time he'd seen Diana
had been in her apartment the night of the El Rico massacre, and
for awhile he'd assumed that she'd perished with the others. He'd
grieved at her apparent death, but it had also been something of
a relief -- and when the forensics team had conclusively proven
that Special Agent Fowley was *not* among the dead ...
He felt a touch at his elbow, and looked down with a start at the
woman standing next to him. Scully was the one, he reminded himself.
Scully was the future, and he had to remember that.
His mind cleared somewhat under her soothing gaze, and he allowed
her to take his hand and pull him a little farther back into the
trees.
"Diana!"
Mulder looked back towards the cabin and saw that the Smoking
Man -- C.G.B. Spender -- was now standing on the porch at the top
of the steps, hands on his hips and a look of anger on his face.
Diana had turned back to face the cabin, which meant she had her
back to Mulder and Scully, and so whatever she was saying was lost.
But her companion's reply was not.
"I don't give a fuck *what* you were told!" he said curtly. "It's
not time yet. When the time comes we will be notified *through
appropriate channels*!"
Diana said something in return, but again her words were inaudible.
Then she turned away from the elder Spender and walked to the
driver's side door, yanking it open.
"Come on," Scully said sharply, pulling her Sig Sauer from her
waistband -- and Mulder had no choice but to draw his own weapon
and follow as she stepped out into the clearing.
C.G.B. Spender saw them first, and Mulder could see the man's eyes
widen at their sudden approach. The Smoking Man started to reach
for his coat pocket, but the motion was abruptly terminated as he
apparently realized that both of the approaching agents were armed
and ready.
Diana had turned to look at the elder Spender, as if waiting for
some response to her last remark. Finally she seemed to realize
that she no longer had his attention, and she turned her head --
and then she froze, and her own eyes widened in apparent surprise.
"Fox!" she exclaimed. Her eyes flicked to Scully. "Agent Scully.
What -- What are *you* doing here?" Her gaze turned back to
Mulder.
"We got your invitation," Mulder said, struggling to keep his
voice calm and level. "And since we were in the neighborhood we
thought we'd drop in." He desperately wanted to know how Diana's
companion was taking this, but he couldn't seem to take his eyes
off the former agent. He could only hope that Scully was paying
closer attention to the other man than he himself was.
Diana's brow furrowed, and she said, "Invitation? I don't know
what --"
"Let's cut the crap, shall we?" Mulder said sharply. He suddenly
felt fury rising within him. He had trusted her. Even after Arizona,
when they lost Gibson Praise, he had trusted her. Right up until El
Rico. And she had betrayed him, maybe even right from the start.
"We know you sent Krycek," he went on, making no effort now to keep
the anger and disgust from his voice. "And we know that you're up
to your neck in this ... this ..." He let his voice trail off, not
being able to find the words to express his feelings.
"Krycek?" Diana looked even more puzzled. "Fox, I haven't seen
Krycek in months -- since before El Rico." She started to walk
towards him, and Mulder felt himself tense -- but then Scully
stirred slightly at his side, and Diana suddenly froze in place.
"Agent Scully?" she said, now looking directly at Scully.
"Don't move," Scully said, and Mulder felt a chill run down his
spine. To others his partner's voice may have sounded calm and
matter-of-fact, but he could hear the cold steel lying underneath.
For a moment there was silence in the clearing, and Mulder was at
last able to force his eyes off of Diana to check on C.G.B. Spender.
But the older man was still right where he had been, standing at
the top of the porch steps, the smoke rising from the ubiquitous
cigarette providing the only sign of life or movement in the
clearing.
==========
5:43 a.m.
The standoff continued for a long moment, all four players in
view seemingly frozen in place. Scully knew she and Mulder had the
element of surprise on their side, but that didn't help her figure
out what to do now.
They could, of course, arrest both Diana and Spender -- or whatever
his name really was; they certainly had enough evidence to warrant
bringing them in. And she and Mulder knew, as the others did not,
that they had backup, hidden in the trees behind them.
Well, they might know of Andy, but she doubted they knew Jeffrey
Spender was with them.
The logistics of bringing the pair in would be a nightmare, she
knew. But it was worth a shot -- *after* they found out why they'd
been directed here.
Mind made up, Scully finally fixed her eyes on the man on the
porch. "Get your hands up in the air, both of you," she ordered.
"And you," she added, motioning toward C.G.B. Spender with her
weapon, "Get down here, now. Move slowly."
He obeyed, which immediately made her wary. Her eyes narrowed in
suspicion as she watched him flick his cigarette to the ground and
raise his hands, stepping on the smoldering butt before he descended
the three steps to the ground.
When he reached the bottom, still a good six feet away from Diana,
Scully ordered him to stop. Again he acquiesced immediately, and
Scully felt her skin prickle.
He knows something, she thought. He's waiting ...
Diana's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Agent Scully," the woman
said, her voice low. "Listen to me."
Almost involuntarily, Scully's eyes moved to focus on Fowley. The
former agent stood near the car's open door, the dome light shining
from behind her making her face hard to see. But her words were
clear.
"Let him come with me, Dana," Diana said, and Scully could hear
the note of pleading -- desperation? -- in the other woman's
voice. "I can save him." She paused, and her next words were
harder, almost derisive. "I could save you, too, but I know that's
too much to ask. Because you don't really believe any of this, do
you?"
Scully opened her mouth to answer, but Mulder beat her to it.
"What Agent Scully does or does not believe is not the issue here,
Diana," he said calmly. "We're here for one reason and one reason
only. You're going to tell us everything you know, and then we're
going to stop what we know is about to happen."
Scully stayed silent, watching as Diana stared at Mulder in shock.
"Stop it?" Diana asked incredulously. "Fox, nobody can stop it.
It's much too late for that. There's only one way out now."
"Like your last 'way out'?" Mulder shot back sarcastically. "Tell
me, Diana, which is better -- death by colonization, or death by
flamethrower? Because the way I see it, dead is dead."
"Death isn't the worst that can happen, Fox," Diana said, her
voice softer. "Not now. Living ... living through it. That would
be worst of all."
Mulder didn't answer, and Scully shot a quick glance in his
direction. He was continuing to study Fowley, who remained still,
hands in the air, eyes focused on Mulder and only on Mulder.
And before Scully could open her mouth to speak, the early-morning
quiet was shattered by the sound of a single gunshot.
==========
5:59 a.m.
The sound of gunfire broke Mulder out of his consideration of
Diana's last statement, and he ducked down into a low crouch,
automatically bringing his weapon around to his right, where the
shot had come from. Then a second shot rang out, from somewhere
behind him, and he dropped forward completely, flattening himself
against the ground.
The sound of his breathing was harsh inside his head as he turned
his face toward the spot where Scully had been standing a moment
before. He couldn't see anything at first, but then he caught sight
of her form lying on the ground, several feet to his right. He
couldn't tell if she was moving or even breathing.
"Scully!" he choked out, starting to push himself up from the
ground again. But her head swiveled in his direction immediately
at the sound of her name.
"Stay down, Mulder," she hissed. "I'm okay."
Mulder slumped back down, his eyes closing briefly in relief, and
then he reopened them and began scanning the clearing as best he
could from his position. No further shots had sounded, but someone
was still out there -- maybe two someones -- and he and Scully were
sitting ducks, with no cover at all.
And then his eyes reached the spot where Diana had been standing,
and he saw her sprawled out flat on her back, the light from inside
the car falling across her body. One arm was twisted partially
under her, and he could see a faint shimmer of something wet across
her heaving chest.
Blood.
He was up and moving before he realized it, only peripherally aware
of Scully following him; she had apparently seen the same thing he
had. His mind registered more footsteps, running past them, and he
hoped it was Andy or Jeff Spender, because he was too focused on
Diana at the moment to react otherwise.
He and Scully reached Diana's fallen form at nearly the same
instant, immediately falling to their knees next to her. Mulder's
eyes ran across her upper body, taking in the gaping hole in her
blouse just below her left shoulder. Scully's hands reached the
blouse with gloved hands, prepared as always, and ripped the edges
apart.
The wound was deceptively small, with bright red blood welling up
from it at regular intervals, in time with Diana's still-beating
heart. The shot had obviously hit an artery, and Mulder knew with
horrible certainty that even Scully's medical skills had no hope
of saving Diana's life.
He looked up at Scully, hoping to see something in her face to
contradict his own conclusion, but the compassion and bleak sorrow
he saw there only confirmed his diagnosis.
Warring emotions gripped his mind and heart, and Mulder didn't know
what to do. Diana had, at one time, been very important in his
life -- his partner and his lover, the one who supported him when
he first discovered the X-Files. But now he didn't know if any of
that had truly been her, or if she'd been serving another agenda
all along.
He wanted to help her, offer some kind of comfort to her. She was
dying here, alone, and despite her betrayal, she had once been
important to him. His sense of compassion was screaming at him to
offer her some final kindness.
He was frozen in place by his indecision, staring down at Diana,
until a small hand came to rest on top of his. He looked up into
Scully's eyes again, and she gave him a small smile and nod.
Scully knew. She could see his internal conflict, and her sense
of compassion was at least as strong as his. With her implicit
approval, or permission, Mulder was freed from his inertia, and he
sank fully to the ground, reaching for Diana's free hand and
wrapping his fingers around hers.
He was distantly aware of Scully's voice, speaking into her cell
phone to summon emergency services, as he leaned forward and
brushed back the tangle of hair that had fallen over Diana's
forehead. He forced himself to give her a small smile as she made
the effort to look at him.
"Hey," he said softly. "It's gonna be all right."
His voice caught, and he couldn't continue. He knew it was a lie;
she knew it was a lie. And too many lies had passed between them
already. He could not, and would not, let it all end on another
lie.
So he just continued holding her hand and running his fingers
through her hair as she gasped and coughed, drops of blood appearing
around her mouth. He could see Scully still working feverishly, not
forestalled in the least by either the identity of her patient or
the hopelessness of the situation. Beneath his growing sorrow, he
felt another surge of pride, that his partner's depth of integrity
and compassion would not allow her to give up, even on Diana.
Diana coughed again, and her hand tightened around his in an
apparent effort to draw him nearer. He obligingly leaned in a
little closer, and she heaved several ragged breaths before she
spoke.
Her words were so faint and indistinct that it took him a moment to
register what she had said. And in the next moment she convulsed,
her grip clamping down tightly on his ... and then relaxing
completely as her breathing stopped, her eyes still staring up
sightlessly into his.
==========
6:13 a.m.
It took Scully a few seconds to realize that the blood had stopped
spurting forth from the gunshot wound. Her first instinct was to
begin CPR, even though she knew it would be useless, but she
glanced at Mulder first.
His eyes were trained on Diana's face, and as she watched his hand
moved slowly from her hair to brush her eyelids closed. The hand
continued down to join his other where he still held her hand, and
he rubbed softly across the knuckles for a few moments.
Scully remained still, simply watching, as he lowered Diana's hand
back to rest across her stomach. He sat back on his heels, eyes
still on his former lover, and then he rose to his feet and turned
away, head down.
Scully was torn, between continuing the futile effort to save
Diana, and going to comfort Mulder. She believed that he really
was over Diana, and she felt no residual jealousy toward the
woman. Anger, yes; but she was no longer jealous. She knew that
Mulder was not mouring the woman Diana had become, but the woman
he'd known so many years before.
Her heart won over her medical training, and she rose to her feet,
peeling the bloodied gloves from her hands and dropping them to
the ground next to Diana. She took one step in Mulder's direction,
but was interrupted as she heard her name called from behind her.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw Andy approaching, her weapon
still in her hand.
"Andy," Scully said, relieved to see the other woman. "Are you
okay? What happened? Where's Sp ... Jeff?"
"We're fine," Andy said, slightly out of breath. "Jeff's on his
way back. He's checking down by the water again; that's where the
first shot came from."
Scully felt her eyebrow arching up. "And the second?" she prompted.
Andy blew out a breath. "The second was Jeff's," she said. "He got
off one shot at whoever it was, but we don't think he hit anything.
We haven't found any blood. He knows it was pretty damn stupid of
him, but he said he saw movement in that direction. There were some
broken branches and a couple of cigarette butts over there, so I
tend to believe him."
At her last words, Scully's head flew up, and she looked around.
"Oh shit," she said. "Where is he?"
"Jeff?" Andy asked, confused. "I told you, down by the ..."
"No, no," Scully interrupted. "Smoking ... Spender. I mean, C.G.B.
Spender. The man that was here with Diana."
"Spender?" Andy's eyes widened. "That man ... he's related to
Jeff?"
Scully bit her lip, realizing this was a vital piece of information
that had somehow never been relayed to Andy. "Yes," she said
simply. "He's his father."
Shock flashed across Andy's face, quickly covered by carefully-
controlled anger. "Okay," she said, her voice level. "And he's
gone?"
Scully nodded as she glanced around again. "Somehow I doubt he
headed inside," she said sardonically. "So yeah, I imagine he got
away while we were distracted."
Her eyes landed on Mulder's back again, and she spoke to Andy over
her shoulder. "Give me a minute," she said, and she walked up to
stand in front of Mulder.
His eyes were distant, staring unseeingly at the forest, his teeth
worrying ridges into his bottom lip. Scully reached out her right
hand to grasp his left, and he latched on tightly, squeezing her
fingers so hard she nearly gasped.
He seemed to realize he was hurting her and eased up, his gaze
falling to land on her. His mouth opened and worked soundlessly,
and then he said simply, "Scully."
She moved forward then, wrapping her arms around him.
They held the embrace for a few minutes, Scully's hands running up
and down his back soothingly, until he drew a deep breath and slid
his arms away from her waist. She took a half-step back, taking his
hand again, and looked up at him. His eyes were damp but clear, and
his voice was steady when he spoke.
"It's deception," he said.
Scully was confused at the seeming non-sequitur. "What?" she asked.
"It's deception," he repeated. "That's what she said. Those were
Diana's last words." He cracked a wry half-grin. "And hell if I
know what it means."
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 18
==========
Batchawana Bay Provincial Park
7:42 a.m.
The sun had long since cleared the trees ringing the little
clearing. Mulder stood off to one side, a short distance from the
cabin, watching quietly as Diana Fowley's body was loaded into the
waiting coroner's van.
She was really dead this time. He had seen it with his own eyes,
and he had her blood on his clothes. No one from Forensics was
going to call him up in a few days to let him know it had all been
a mistake. She was dead.
He wished he knew how he was supposed to feel about that.
It was strange. He didn't really have anything in the way of
residual feelings toward Diana. Anything he'd felt toward her had
pretty much died years ago, and disappeared entirely once he
realized she'd betrayed him.
But the memories of that time they were together were still there.
And Mulder had never let go of his memories easily.
He looked down at Scully, standing next to him quietly. She had
not left his side since the Canadian authorities arrived, and he
felt a fresh surge of emotion at this demonstration of her loyalty
and support.
He knew that there was no love lost between his partner and his
former lover; he also knew that he himself had not been completely
honest with Scully concerning his past relationship with Diana.
But she had not allowed those facts to prevent her from carrying
out her professional responsibilities towards a mortally wounded
patient -- nor had she let her personal feelings towards Diana keep
her from providing him with the anchor he so desperately needed
right now.
Scully must have felt his gaze on her, for just at that moment she
looked up at him, and Mulder caught his breath at the love and
compassion he saw in her eyes. He started to speak, but she shook
her head ever so slightly, and he realized that, at least for now,
no words were necessary. And so he simply moved a little closer to
her, until his hip brushed lightly against her side, and turned his
attention back to the crime scene.
Jeff Spender and Andy had disappeared into the woods as the first
sirens approached; it had seemed simpler than trying to explain the
presence of a Marine Corps officer and a former FBI agent who was
officially listed as missing and presumed dead. It was bad enough
that the Canadians would soon discover that Diana herself was listed
as missing by the Bureau's personnel office. Scully had at least
managed a brief call to Skinner to fill him in and ensure his backup
on their story if it was needed.
The Canadian police had arrived close on the heels of the
paramedics and were proceeding to take the cabin and surrounding
area apart with a swift, thorough, professionalism that Mulder
couldn't help but admire. They seemed competent and earnest; it
almost made him feel guilty over the fact that he knew they weren't
going to find anything.
He let one hand slide into his pocket, and lightly touched the slip
of paper which was the only clue he and Scully had unearthed in
their own quick search of the premises, before the authorities
arrived. He had known it was a calculated risk to take the piece of
notepaper, since there was a chance that he and Scully would be
taken into custody as either suspects or material witnesses. But he
had really had no choice in the matter; without this note, written
in Diana's careless, hurried script and found in her jacket pocket,
they would have nothing at all to go on.
The paper read:
NW1478 1115
CIU YUL
7F866 0850
YUL YVP YWB
His mind had been automatically working on the puzzle the jumble of
letters and numbers presented, but he hadn't really had a chance
to concentrate on it yet. He was fairly certain it indicated flight
information, but he hadn't gotten any farther than that when the
local authorities had arrived and he'd had to put it aside.
"Agent Mulder? Agent Scully?"
Mulder was drawn from his reverie by the approach once again of the
burly, middle aged detective who had questioned them earlier.
Rogers, that was the man's name, he remembered. Detective Jack
Rogers.
The man had been suspicious at first, which was only natural given
the circumstances, but that suspicion had seemed to fade fairly
quickly as the questioning proceeded. When he found that Mulder
and Scully were "vacationing" FBI agents, visiting a former
colleague, his doubts had apparently disappeared entirely.
"Yes, Detective?" Scully replied, her voice calm and even.
"I'd just like to ask you a few more questions, if you don't
mind." The man pulled a small, dog-eared notebook and the stub of
a pencil from one pocket before continuing. "You said that you,
Agent Mulder, are an old friend of the deceased, correct?"
"That's right," Mulder said, and repressed the temptation to sigh.
He and Scully might no longer be under suspicion, but that
apparently wasn't going to stop Rogers from going through the usual
interrogation procedure of repeating a line of questioning to check
for inconsistencies. He apparently was going to review only the
personal parts of the interview, however, not the questions
regarding the possibility of an enemy from an old case targeting
her.
"And what, exactly, was the nature of that friendship?" Rogers
asked
"We were lovers, for a little over a year, ten years ago." Mulder
glanced down at Scully, but she still seemed to be completely
calm, so he looked back at the detective. He was tempted to add
something like, "I'm with Dana now," but he and Scully had already
decided it would be prudent to keep their budding personal
relationship out of the picture.
The other man nodded and scribbled something in his notebook, then
looked back up at the two agents. "And there was no ...
unpleasantness about this situation?"
Mulder shook his head. "No," he said. "Diana returned to the
States from an overseas assignment last year, but she left the
Bureau several months ago and moved here. When Scully and I
finished up our case in Michigan early, we decided to drive up
for a visit before our flight back to D.C."
The detective's eyes flicked over to Scully, but his question was
directed at Mulder. "You didn't call?"
Mulder shrugged. "I didn't think it was necessary," he said.
"She's always been an early riser, so I wasn't worried about
waking her."
Rogers nodded again, still looking at Scully. "And what was your
relationship with Ms. Fowley, Agent Scully?"
Scully's face was still calm when Mulder looked down at her. "She
was a colleague and a friend of Mulder's," she said. "We had a
professional relationship, but we didn't socialize outside the
office."
"There was no animosity between you?"
"No," Scully answered simply, then offered a tiny smile. "Really,
Detective Rogers, I know where you're going with this; we're in
law enforcement ourselves. But there's nothing there. Diana and I
were not really friends, but we weren't rivals or enemies, either."
Nicely worded, Mulder thought. Her statement ostensibly referred
to any problems between her and Diana, but at the same time it could
refer to any possible romantic involvement between Mulder and
either -- or both -- of the women. As he so often did, Mulder found
himself admiring Scully's diplomatic skills. They were on the edge
as it was, filling in the story with half-truths, so anything they
could do to avoid adding to the deception was welcome.
Again Rogers nodded. "I understand, Agent Scully," he said, a
rueful smile on his face. "But I'm sure you also understand that
these questions must be asked." The smile faded, and he looked
back at Mulder again. "Agent Mulder, my investigators say there is
evidence of another person being in the cabin. Specifically, a man.
Do you know anything about that?"
Mulder shook his head. "We didn't see anyone else," he said, hating
the necessary lie.
The detective was now staring at him intently. "So the three of
you were just standing there by her car, chatting, and suddenly a
shot rang out?"
Again Scully intervened. "I know it sounds melodramatic,
Detective," she said softly. "But that's exactly what happened.
And then we were so busy trying to save her that I'm afraid
neither one of us got so much as a glimpse at the shooter."
"Could it have been a boyfriend?" The man was now looking at
Scully with the same intensity he had been focusing on Mulder a
few seconds earlier, and Mulder reminded himself once again that
this man was a professional, and should not be taken lightly.
Scully shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "As Mulder said, we
didn't see anyone."
For a moment there was silence, broken only by the random noises
of the ongoing search -- doors opening and closing, voices as the
other men called out questions and comments to each other.
At last, Rogers nodded and closed his notebook. "All right then,"
he said, signaling to one of his men. "I've spoken to your Assistant
Director Skinner, and he confirmed your account of your presence
here." He addressed the officer he'd summoned. "Jeffries, you can
return their weapons to them." Then he looked back to Mulder and
Scully. "You're free to go. Our office will be in touch later if
we have any further questions."
And he turned and walked away.
=============
9:05 a.m.
The interior of the car was quiet as Mulder drove back toward the
airport south of Sault Ste. Marie. Getting out of the park had been
a little problematic; Andy and Spender had ended up walking nearly
a half-mile down the road, so Mulder and Scully could pick them up
well out of sight of the locals.
They were now booked on an 11:15 flight back to DC; Scully had made
that call as soon as she could get a clear line. She followed that
with a call to Skinner's office, leaving a message that she and
Mulder would be in late that afternoon to explain themselves.
They had made a bit of progress, however. The slip of paper Mulder
had found in the cabin contained, they had decided, flight numbers
and either airline or, more likely, airport codes. They had no
proof, of course, but that made the most sense. But they'd have to
do some searching to figure out the route indicated, so they'd
decided to turn that task over to the Gunmen.
What *hadn't* been decided, however, was who would go where and do
what when they arrived. Scully wanted them all to go to the Bureau
to bring Skinner into the loop on the case, but Mulder had argued
that they needed to stop by and drop off their growing stack of
tasks for the Gunmen first. They'd finally agreed to hold off on a
decision until after they'd had some food and, most important,
coffee.
They were just leaving the outskirts of the city, a few miles from
the airport, when Spender spoke up from his seat behind her. His
voice was low, and Scully twisted in her seat, turning her head
instinctively to catch his words.
"What time did you say the flight was?" he asked.
"Eleven-fifteen," Scully replied, wondering why they were
whispering. And then Spender's eyes shifted, and she followed his
gaze to see Andy curled up against the seat, sound asleep.
Scully half-grinned. Andy had the right idea, that was for sure.
They were all still sleep-deprived, and Scully determined that she
would insist all of them sleep as much as possible on the flight.
She dreaded the idea of waking up cramped and sore, but that would
be more than made up for if she got a few hours in her own bed on
the other end.
Her gaze drifted back to Spender, who had leaned back against the
seat as well, his head turned to his left. Scully first thought
his eyes were closed, but then she saw a small gleam of light from
under his eyelashes and realized he was watching Andy again. A
faint line ran across the middle of his forehead, as if he was
frowning, but the corners of his mouth were turned up slightly.
Scully slowly turned back around in her seat, catching the quick
look Mulder shot her way. She met it briefly and shrugged, giving
a small smile. Mulder's mouth curved slightly in response as he
turned his attention back to the road, pulling into the entrance
to the airport.
==========
Northwest Airlines flight 1478
Somewhere over Michigan
12:07 p.m.
Breakfast, tickets, security and luggage maneuvering had taken up
most of the full hour and half the group had spent at the airport
before their flight boarded, and faxing a copy of Diana's notes to
the Gunmen had consumed the rest. They would have a change of
planes in Detroit to split the flight in half and would arrive at
Washington National a little after three. All four had, on
Scully's recommendation, pushed their seats back immediately and
tried to at least rest, if not sleep.
They were near the back of the plane, and with no meal service on
the two short legs, they had little to disturb them. Andy was
asleep ten minutes after takeoff, and from her seat across the
aisle from them, Scully had covertly watched Spender watch Andy
sleep for another good ten minutes before he slept as well.
Even Mulder appeared to be sleeping now, his head tipped over in
Scully's direction and his breathing deep and regular. But Scully
couldn't settle. Her eyes popped open within seconds every time
she forced them closed, and her thoughts whirled so fast she was
starting to feel lightheaded.
She'd held it together well at the cabin, thank God, handling the
shooting and the investigation calmly and professionally. But with
the rush of adrenalin behind her, all the jumbled emotions she'd
shoved aside earlier welled up with a vengeance, forcing her to
deal with them.
Abject terror was first on the list, from the moment of the first
gunshot. She'd been lucky that Mulder had been in her line of
sight when she dropped to the ground, so she didn't have to deal
with worry for him, as he had for her. But no amount of training
would, or should, take away that flash of fear at the sound of an
unexpected gunshot.
Shame followed closely, a remnant of her first thought when she'd
realized Diana had been mortally wounded. Relief had washed over
her, that Diana would be out of the picture for good, and she
had immediately hated herself for even considering such a thing.
It went against everything she was, everything she stood for, and
she was ashamed that it even occurred to her.
Pain and sorrow were next, coming solely from her empathy with
Mulder. She knew he was torn about Diana's death, that he felt
guilty for wanting to comfort her in her last minutes, both because
of her betrayal and because of Scully. But Scully knew Mulder. He
wasn't operating out of residual love toward Diana; he was guided
by the memory of that love, amplified by his own natural
compassion.
And, yes, there was a little jealousy mixed in there, too. It
wasn't really directed at Diana herself; Scully was secure in the
knowledge that Diana was out of the picture long before they'd even
reached the cabin. No, she was jealous that any other woman had
ever possessed a part of Mulder, that she hadn't always been the
woman in his life. She knew it was completely irrational of her ...
but she also realized it was entirely human.
There was some anxiety, too, about skirting around the truth about
the shooting, and about the fact that they hadn't found the shooter.
And then there was the urge she'd had while the local authorities
were on the scene to simply bury herself against Mulder's chest and
stay there for several hours. At least.
She let everything flow out of her, the whole range of emotions
she'd pushed aside earlier, and to her surprise she felt her eyes
fill with tears. Before she could stop them, a few drops spilled
out and started down her cheeks.
She started to lean forward to get a tissue from her briefcase, but
then she felt a touch on her cheek, brushing aside the dampness.
She looked up into Mulder's eyes as he cupped his hands around her
face and whispered, "Scully, are you okay?"
She nodded wordlessly, her gaze locked with his, and then allowed
him to draw her toward him, pulling her against his chest. She
smiled tremulously, realizing this had been just what she'd been
thinking about moments before, and she took a long, deep breath
and exhaled as she relaxed against him.
She was asleep within minutes.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 19
==========
Washington, DC
Office of the Lone Gunmen
5:52 p.m.
Mulder leaned back in his chair and munched contentedly on a slice
of pepperoni pizza. He felt more relaxed, more in his element,
than at any time since Scully had awakened him early Monday
morning.
Byers sat next to him, fastidiously eating his own piece of pizza
with a knife and fork, while Frohike worked his way rapidly
through a bowl of jalapeno cheese poppers. In one corner of the
room the blood samples taken from Mulder and from Scully whirled
in a small centrifuge, while another device was subjecting the bee
carcass from Fort Benning to tests which Mulder didn't even
understand that well.
Mulder idly turned his attention back to Frohike. The little man
had not let Mulder out of his sight since Mulder and Andy arrived
at the office, forty-five minutes earlier. He seemed to be studying
the agent -- for what reason, Mulder didn't know, but he'd long
since given up on trying to discern Frohike's motives for anything.
Mulder shook his head and glanced across the room, to where Andy
and Langly were bent over a computer console. At first he had been
mildly surprised at how well those two had hit it off, but after
thinking about it a bit he'd decided that it actually did make
sense, in a weird sort of a way. Both of them were highly competent,
and both of them were very focused when they were working on a
problem. As work partners, he concluded, they made a good match.
He took a quick swallow from the bottle of Rolling Rock which Byers
had brought him and grabbed another piece of pizza, and for just a
moment Mulder let his thoughts drift.
The trip back to Washington had been completely uneventful, other
than a couple of slight delays. Scully and the other two had slept
most of the way, and Mulder had even found himself dozing off for
awhile during the flight from Detroit to Washington National.
He'd been awakened by the announcement that they were about to make
the final approach for landing, and discovered that Scully had very
nearly crawled into his lap while they both slept. He'd gently
nudged her awake, and after a few seconds of confusion a slow smile
had spread across her face -- and Mulder had thought in that moment
that she looked younger and more contented than he could remember
having seen her look in ages.
"She finally got to you, didn't she?"
Mulder was dragged back to the present by Frohike's voice.
"What?" he asked, more to give himself a few seconds to think than
because he hadn't heard.
"I said she finally got to you," the little man repeated. "Agent
Scully. She got to you."
Mulder shook his head, not because he really expected to deceive
his friends, but from an instinct that told him to play the game
out. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said.
Frohike laughed. "Mulder, you are so full of shit it's a wonder
your eyes aren't brown." He picked up a piece of pizza from the box
and stuffed it in his mouth, then proceeded to mumble around it as
he chewed. "You walked in here looking like the cat that ate the
canary. That can mean only one of two things, and you'd have told
us by now if you'd found Samantha."
Mulder blinked at the comment, but was surprised to discover that
the jibe didn't hurt the way he thought it ought to. He was spared
from making a response by Byers' intervention.
"Frohike, you may be the only person in Washington with less
sensitivity than Kenneth Starr," he said. Frohike's face took on
an indignant, wounded look, and he had just opened his mouth to
respond when Langly spoke up from across the room.
"Mulder, I think we've got something for you."
Mulder shot what he hoped was an enigmatic look at Frohike, then
rose from his seat and crossed to stand behind Langly and Andy.
Looking down at the computer screen, he saw that it was set to
display a map of the north central United States, including
Michigan and part of southern Ontario. A blue shaded area covered
several states and parts of states in the region, and several
colored lines emanated from a point in northern Michigan that
Mulder identified as the location of Camp Grayling, where the
Gunmen had previously reported the military flights from Columbus
and Cedar Rapids had converged.
"We pulled some of this off the FAA's web site," Langly said. "It's
a display of the area of responsibility for Minneapolis Center, the
air traffic control center for the upper Midwest. We've been
working on this for several days; ever since we got your first call
on this issue. The FAA's computer network is not easy to crack,
although it's not as secure as they think it is."
The lanky blond reached out and tapped a fingernail against the
screen, indicating the network of lines centering on Camp Grayling.
"Now these," he continued, "we did *not* pull off the web. We got
them by hacking into the ATC system's computer network. These lines
represent the flight paths of those military transports you had us
check on, plus the additional flights from Oregon which we
identified."
Langly glanced up at Mulder, and his eyes glinted briefly; then he
looked back down at the screen. "And this line here," he concluded,
indicating a single path which headed off from Camp Grayling to the
north-northeast, "represents what looks like a continuation of
those flights."
Mulder nodded absently. "Okay, that's a start. Any idea what their
destination was?"
To his surprise, Andy picked up the story. "Not at first," she
said. "Military transports have tremendous range; and of course,
they could have changed course after they left Minneapolis Center's
radar screens." She paused while Langly's fingers flew over the
keyboard; the map display zoomed out to show most of North America,
and the northbound line of departure extended itself until it
finally came to a halt at the tip of the peninsula which separated
Hudson Bay from the Labrador Sea, in extreme northern Quebec.
Mulder furrowed his brow. "That's it?" he asked. "That's their
destination? How did you work it out?"
Andy glanced up at him and smiled. "It was your doing, Wonderboy,"
she said. "Remember that slip of paper you found in Agent Fowley's
pocket?" She waited until Mulder had nodded, then continued, "Well,
your hunch was right: Those were flight numbers and times, and
airport codes. And when Langly and I traced them through the SABRE
reservation system, we found this."
Now she turned back to the screen and nodded to Langly; again his
fingers flew across the keyboard, and one more set of lines
appeared, this time leading from Sault Ste. Marie to Montreal, and
then north until it rendezvoused with the line originating at Camp
Grayling.
Langly said, "These appear to be the commercial flights Agent
Fowley had booked for herself; the final destination is a town
called Kangiqsujuaq, in northern Quebec, which just happens to be
on the direct line of travel for the last known heading of those
military transports. We haven't been able to hack into the actual
reservation system -- yet. But the flight times and airport I.D.'s
match up exactly." He looked back up at Mulder. "And unless I miss
my guess, that's where you'll want to be going next."
==========
FBI headquarters
6:07 p.m.
Scully sat on the long sofa in Skinner's outer office, fighting an
urge to glance at her watch again or tap her foot with impatience.
She'd been waiting for nearly fifteen minutes now, and she was
ready to get this meeting over with and get back in contact with
Mulder.
It had been nearly four by the time the group had left the airport,
and Mulder had dropped her and Spender off at her apartment on his
way to his own, so Scully could pick up her car. The division of
labor had been arranged in the last few minutes before they landed,
with the four of them agreeing that it made the most sense for
Scully and Spender to meet with Skinner. Spender had been a little
hesitant but finally acknowledged that his presence would go a long
way toward driving home the importance of the investigation.
Scully had called Skinner's office as soon as they got inside her
apartment, learning from his assistant that he was in a meeting but
should be out by six. She'd left a message that she would be there at
six, then spent nearly an hour straightening up the remnants of her
fast exit earlier in the week.
Spender had spent most of the time sitting in an armchair, silent.
He sat almost gingerly, as if he was uncomfortable even being there,
and truth be told, Scully was a little uncomfortable with him there,
as well. But she did her best not to show it, offering him a drink,
which he accepted, and pointing him down the hall to the bathroom.
She had felt better after washing her face, redoing her makeup and
changing into a fresh suit, polished and professional again and
ready to face her boss. But now she was cooling her heels outside
his office, waiting for him to return from some upper-floor
conference room.
"Agent Scully." Skinner's voice came from the doorway behind her,
and she nearly jumped at the sound. She rose immediately and
turned to face him.
"Sir," she replied.
Skinner glanced around the room. "Where's Agent Mulder?" he asked.
"That's part of what I'd like to talk to you about, sir," Scully
answered, her voice level.
Skinner held her gaze for a moment, then nodded once and strode
through the small room to his office door. He paused and glanced
at his assistant as he passed, sending her a quick, "Go on home,
Kimberly."
Scully caught up with him as he reached the door. "Sir," she said.
"Could we possibly speak in Agent Mulder's office rather than here?"
Skinner turned to look at her, his hand on the doorknob. "Is there
a reason for this request, Agent Scully?" he asked pointedly.
"Yes, sir," she responded.
He seemed to be expecting her to continue, and when she didn't, he
studied her for a moment before he finally nodded. "Fine," he said.
"Give me about ten minutes."
"Fine, sir," she said.
She remained in her spot as he stepped into the office, and then
she turned and walked out, heading for the elevator. She and Spender
had decided on the ride in that having Spender walking the halls of
the J. Edgar Hoover Building might not be the best idea. So they'd
taken the back stairway down to the basement, and Spender had been
waiting in a storeroom down the hall from the office.
She felt a little guilty about leaving him in such an uncomfortable
spot, especially considering how long she'd had to wait herself.
But she was not about to leave Spender in the X-files office alone.
Five minutes after leaving Skinner's office, Scully was unlocking
the office door. She pushed it open and flicked on a light, then
stepped back down the hall and knocked on the storeroom door.
"Coast is clear," she said lightly, then turned and headed back
toward the office.
She sat down at Mulder's desk, placing her briefcase atop the
small jumble of papers in the center of the desk blotter, and
looked around the room. It was still small, still cluttered, but
it was much more organized than it had been before the fire. Every
surface wasn't covered with papers and files, and things like pens
and pencils were actually in containers or in drawers, rather than
scattered across the desk.
She swiveled slowly in the chair and regarded the shiny new poster
on the wall. It had been there when she came in the morning after
they returned from California a month before, and she'd felt a
sense of relief. She had strongly suspected that the package from
Karin Berquist had contained her copy of the poster, and she'd been
proven right. She had worried briefly that he'd be upset by it, but
he'd apparently handled it well.
"Back to normal, I see."
Scully twirled the chair around at Spender's words to see him
taking in the room, much as she had moments before. His mouth
twisted slightly as he looked at the poster. "You mean they
actually mass-produce those things?" he asked, his tone teasing
but not derisive.
Scully smiled briefly in return. "Apparently so," she said simply,
then waved a hand toward the two chairs across the desk. "Have a
seat," she said. "Assistant Director Skinner will be here in a
few minutes."
Spender moved to take the seat on her right, still looking around
the room. "A lot neater than before, too," he observed. "You must
be rubbing off on him."
His tone of voice gave the innocent words a completely different
meaning, and Scully got a sudden sick feeling in the pit of her
stomach. She did not want to have to field questions from Skinner
about the status of her relationship with Mulder, not now. Too
much else was going on, and she and Mulder had not even discussed
the possible ramifications if the Bureau higher-ups learned of
their personal involvement.
But Spender seemed to sense her concern, and he caught her gaze, a
glimmer of unexpected merriment in his eyes. "Your secret is safe
with me," he intoned gravely, and Scully was still biting back a
grin when Skinner appeared in the doorway.
The A.D. regarded her seriously. "Something funny, Agent Scully?"
he asked.
"No, sir," Scully answered, rising and crossing the room. "Please
come in."
He did, and Scully shut the door firmly behind him before turning
to face him. But Skinner had already discovered the reason for the
subterfuge, and Scully could see the muscles working along his
jawline as he growled out his next words.
"Jeffrey Spender," Skinner said, a bit sarcastically. "I would say
I'm surprised to see you still among the living, but somehow, it
doesn't surprise me at all."
Spender had stood up and was now facing his former supervisor.
"Sir," he said formally.
No one spoke for a few long moments, until a chirping sound came
from Scully's briefcase. She crossed over and pulled the phone out,
answering with her surname, as usual.
"Scully, it's me," came Mulder's voice.
"Mulder, where are you?" Scully asked, glancing up at the two men
standing across from her.
"I'm in the car, headed back to the airport," he answered.
"The airport?" Scully repeated. "Where are you going?"
"Montreal," he said. "The guys found out where Diana was headed,
and it matches up with those military flight patterns. Andy and I
are on the eight o'clock flight out, and I needed to know if you
and Spender are going to be able to make it so we can get you
tickets, too."
Scully's mind raced. It was 6:30 already, and the drive to National
would take at least a half-hour, maybe more in late rush-hour
traffic. And she still had to fill Skinner in on their activities
of the last few days. She might make it at full-tilt speed, but it
would be very, very close.
Mind made up, she spoke into the phone. "No, Mulder, you two go on
ahead," she said. "I assume the guys have your flight information?"
"Yeah," Mulder replied. "It'll be a hellaciously long day; we won't
get there until sometime mid-afternoon tomorrow. Our final
destination is a little village in northern Quebec that I'm not even
going to attempt to pronounce. The boys'll have everything you need,
except maybe a parka. I don't want to have to share mine again."
Scully almost grinned at his teasing tone, glad that they could at
least joke a little about last summer's Antarctic adventure. "Sure,
Mulder," she said. "We'll get there as quickly as we can."
"Okay," Mulder said, his voice softer. "Be careful, Scully."
"You, too," she said, listening as the line went dead.
Ending the call, she set the phone back down on the desk and looked
up at Skinner. "Sir," she said, gesturing toward the seat behind
her to offer him that spot, but he waved her off.
"Have a seat, Agent Scully," he said, then glanced at Spender
and added, "You, too." He pulled the second chair forward and sat
in it. "Now, which one of you is going to tell me what the hell is
going on?"
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 20
==========
Air Canada Flight 399
Somewhere over Pennsylvania
8:31 p.m.
Mulder stared out the window at the ground, 35,000 feet below. The
sun had set an hour earlier, leaving the terrain itself in darkness,
but the night was clear and so the lights of the towns and cities
passing by were bright and distinct.
He was abruptly reminded of another flight he'd taken, two years
earlier. That time he'd sat next to a Consortium agent, a man who
had tried to persuade him ... how was it he'd put it? Mulder
closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment ... and then he had
it.
"Look out your window, Agent Mulder," the man had said. "You see
the lights? Now, imagine if one of those lights flickered off.
You'd hardly notice, would you? A dozen ... two dozen lights
extinguished. Is it worth sacrificing the future, the lives of
millions, to keep a few lights on?"
Mulder hadn't been swayed by that argument; in fact, he'd been
annoyed, and viewed it as a distraction, part of the man's effort
to retrieve the alien artifact Mulder had retrieved courtesy of Max
Fenig. And then the Consortium man had been gone, along with the
artifact, and Mulder was missing nine minutes out of his life.
Again.
Mulder had tried to put the man's arguments out of his mind, and he
had for the most part succeeded. There was no denying that there
was a certain seductiveness to the appeal, but even when he awoke
sweating in the middle of the night, Mulder had been able to hold
those thoughts at bay. Until the night he had been confronted by
C.G.B. Spender in Diana Fowley's apartment. The night of the El
Rico massacre.
Again he let his thoughts drift back. Mulder had gone to Diana's
apartment trying to confirm or deny the allegations Scully had made
against her. He hadn't found anything concrete, but as he'd said to
Diana herself later that evening, in the end the evidence had found
him, in the person of the Smoking Man. And the words that man had
spoken -- those words had been devestating.
Mulder had very nearly been pushed over the edge that night. The
personal connection he'd built up with the elder Spender over the
years -- indirectly, through the man's association with Mulder's
father, and also on his own account -- had given the the Smoker's
words a weight which those of the Consortium agent on the plane two
years earlier had lacked.
Mulder had tried to resist, tried to fight back and insist on what
he'd believed for years to be the truth. But in the end he had not
been strong enough, and only Scully had been able to drag him back
from the brink.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
He opened his eyes to see Andy looking at him curiously, with
perhaps just a hint of concern in her eyes. He forced a smile. "I'm
not sure they're worth that," he replied. "Just woolgathering."
"Uh-huh." She continued to look at him, a calculating expression
on her face. Then: "Mulder? How did you get into all this, anyway?
You and Dana?"
Mulder gave a rueful half-grin. "Scully's involvement is easy to
explain," he said. "She was assigned to spy on me." Andy's eyebrows
shot up, and he continued, "I mean it. Some people higher up in the
government -- or out of it, the line is a little hazy up there
sometimes -- some of those people apparently felt that I was making
a little too much progress on the X-Files. So they sent her to
report on my activities and debunk my work."
"But she didn't do it." It was more of a statement than a question.
Mulder laughed. "Actually, she did -- but not the way they
intended. As you have probably noticed, Scully always takes her
work very seriously, and she did the same thing with her assignment
to the X-Files." The corners of his mouth lifted in wry amusement.
"Unfortunately for the people who gave her the assignment, she
actually insisted on looking at *all* of the evidence and then
drawing her own conclusions."
Andy nodded. "That sounds like Dana," she said, returning his half-
smile with one of her own.
Mulder nodded in response, and suddenly found himself loosening up
with the reporter in a way he hadn't done before. It was good to
have someone to talk to about all this, he realized. He'd been
keeping too much bottled up for too long, and it needed an outlet.
He was able to talk to Scully about most things, but he didn't
really have anyone to talk to *about* Scully.
"Anyway," he said, "the short version is that I didn't expect her
to stay very long -- none of my partners before had ever lasted
more than a few months. I don't think she expected to be there very
long, either. But then ... I don't know. Things happened. There
were ... changes. And before I knew it she'd gotten inside, to the
point where I found the idea of going on without her to be
unthinkable." He smiled ruefully, a little embarrassed at his
openness. It certainly wasn't like him.
Andy nodded again, and seemed to be lost in thought for a moment.
Then she glanced back up at Mulder. "But what about you?" she
asked. "You seem to have been the driving force in all this. How
did *you* get involved? What's your stake?"
Mulder looked at her intently for a moment, trying to decide what
to tell her. There were so many levels to her question -- more than
even he himself had suspected as recently as a few months ago. He
wasn't sure which answer she was really looking for, and he didn't
want to mislead her with an incomplete response.
Still, it all came down to one thing in the end. As important as
Scully was to him, as much as she had become the indispensable
center of his life, Samantha had still been the impetus that got
him into this in the beginning. And that was probably the best
place to start.
He sighed, and quietly said, "It all started with my sister."
==========
Georgetown
9:37 p.m.
Scully let out a relieved sigh as she opened the door and stepped
into her darkened apartment. Alone at last, she thought idly,
quirking one corner of her mouth up in amusement as she slid off
her heels and headed to her bedroom to change.
The hour-and-a-half meeting with Skinner had been grueling, to say
the least, between briefing the A.D. on what she and Mulder had
learned and explaining how and why both Jeff Spender and Andy Baker
had gotten involved. Skinner had actually gone easy on her with
regard to Andy, raising no further objections once Scully informed
him of the reporter's military position and the clean background
check.
The meeting had also been useful in deciding what, exactly, she
and Spender should do next. Skinner had, rather reluctantly,
accepted the former agent's explanation for his disappearance,
agreeing that now was not the time to be concerned about protocol.
Flight arrangements were a bit more problematic. Scully got in a
quick call to the Gunmen, only to find that the flight to northern
Quebec Mulder and Andy were on the next day was the last until
Monday. She would need to find alternate transportation for Spender
and herself.
To her surprise, as soon as she brought up the subject, Skinner
offered to help them take care of the necessary air charter. The
A.D. even suggested providing Spender with a safe house for the
night, but the former agent declined.
"I'd rather make my own arrangements," he said simply, offering
no further explanations.
And so Scully left the office alone, navigating the familiar
streets between headquarters and her apartment with well-practiced
moves. It almost felt like a normal day.
Except that nothing at all was normal about it.
As she reached her bedroom, Scully's footsteps slowed. The last
bit of information Skinner had provided had been the most
disturbing to her privately.
Instinctively, her hand lifted to rub lightly across the tiny scar
at the base of her neck as she recalled his report: Nearly two
hundred cars had been found abandoned this morning in a remote
area near Springfield, Illinois. Some of the cars had been left
running, most with headlights still on, but no trace of anyone
was found in the area -- dead or alive.
Scully knew what the report meant. The missing people would all
have been former abductees, perfectly primed to host whatever
creatures it was that were being developed. She and Mulder had
discussed the possibility, and they had apparently been proven
right.
She wondered how many it would take to fully restock for their
plans. And how long it would take.
Memorial Day was barely two weeks away.
Lost in thought, Scully continued into her bedroom, where she came
to a stop in the middle of the floor, her gaze locked on the
overnight bag sitting on the foot of her bed. The bag was part of
a set her parents had given her for Christmas, the year her father
died, and she used it more often than any of the other pieces. It
was the perfect size to hold enough shoes, lingerie, toiletries,
and other necessities for a week on the road, and like her garment
bag, it was almost never empty.
That bag had been with her in Oregon, in Florida several times, in
Kansas and Texas and New Mexico and California and even Bermuda.
Her mind superimposed a mosaic of old-fashioned locale stickers on
the soft leather, telling the story of years spent on the road,
searching for the answers she so desperately needed to find.
Now, she was about to take it on what could very well be her last
trip anywhere. Because if they were right about what was going to
happen over the next two weeks, there wouldn't be any more
traveling after that.
God. Why did it have to finally sink in now, here, when she was
alone in a dark, empty room? She usually enjoyed her periods of
solitude, drew strength from time spent with herself. She'd been
grateful at first to have at least a few hours to herself, unused
to spending so many consecutive hours in the company of others.
But she wanted that company now. Craved it. Her imagination was
drawing a cold, stark picture of devastation within her mind,
barren landscapes populated with humans enslaved by creatures
beyond her imaginings, and she did not want to be alone with her
thoughts.
She didn't want to believe. She didn't want such a thing to be in
the realm of possibility, even at its most extreme. It went
against everything she had ever known, tore at the roots of both
her science and her religion, and the idea that both could have
been wrong or incomplete was enough to shake her to her core.
And she was alone. Isolated. Separated from the one thing that
could help her keep her center in the midst of this chaos.
She needed Mulder. And he wasn't here.
She knew she was being irrational. But that didn't change the way
she felt.
Forcibly pulling herself from her trance, Scully resolutely went
about getting ready for bed. She changed clothes methodically,
carefully hanging her barely-worn suit and blouse, tossing her hose
in a lingerie bag, lining up her heels in their usual spot on the
second shelf of her closet. She slipped on worn sweatpants and a
soft t-shirt, then stepped into the bathroom to wash her face and
brush her teeth and hair.
Her stomach growled as she lifted the toothbrush to her mouth, and
she nearly laughed aloud. How could her body want food now, with
her mind in such turmoil that her everyday activities had become a
struggle?
But logic won out over worry, and she set the toothbrush down in
favor of nourishment.
==========
Motel Fleur de Lys
Montreal, Quebec, Canada
9:59 p.m.
For what seemed like the hundredth time in the past four days,
Mulder leaned back against the headboard of his bed and watched
the images on the flickering TV screen across the room.
Their flight had arrived at Dorval International Airport 30 minutes
earlier, and to Mulder's surprise they had passed through Customs
quickly and easily, not even their handguns causing particular
difficulty. They had then caught a cab to the motel, and upon
arrival Andy had gone straight to bed, pleading exhaustion.
Mulder was exhausted, too, but he doubted he would be able to
sleep. Much as talking to Andy about Scully -- and Samantha -- had
provided a certain release, it had also brought his emotions close
to the surface, and left him feeling vulnerable and alone.
He closed his eyes and sighed in resignation. The only really good
sleep he had gotten the last two nights had been when Scully had
been sleeping next to him -- and how was *that* for instant
dependency? He'd gotten along fine for years sleeping alone -- or,
at least, he'd become accustomed to it. And now here he was, a
little more than 72 hours after the first small but definite step
that he and Scully had taken towards each other, and he felt like
an incipient basket case because she wasn't there.
Mulder shifted slightly on the bed. Tonight was really no different
from any of hundreds of other nights he'd spent in the field, he
told himself. Same rat trap motel room, same lumpy mattress, same
thermostat that always seemed to keep the room too hot or too cold.
Nothing different at all.
Which was, of course, complete bullshit. Everything was different
about this case, from the dire consequences of failure, looming
only a little more than two weeks away, to the fact that the wrong
woman was sleeping on the other side of the connecting door.
A perfectly nice woman ... but the wrong woman.
Without quite realizing how it had happened, Mulder found himself
holding his cell phone in his hand, his finger poised over the
first speed dial button. He ought to call Scully, he rationalized.
He should let her know that he and Andy had arrived safely and
tell her where they were staying, and he needed to get a synopsis
of her meeting with Skinner.
It wasn't that late, only a little after ten. Although none of
them had slept much in the last few days, and it would be
understandable if she had crashed at the first opportunity.
He continued staring at the cell phone for another minute before
it hit him how ridiculous he was being. Four days ago he wouldn't
have hesitated to call her, even if he knew full well that she
*was* asleep, or in a meeting, or otherwise occupied. Four days
ago, he probably would have called her as soon as he reached the
motel; in fact, it never would have occurred to him *not* to call.
Four days ago, though, they hadn't just embarked on a love affair.
That was the difference, of course.
Shit. He was being fucking ridiculous. He really *did* need to talk
to her, both about the case and for personal reasons. She had
crawled into bed with him last night, and the night before; surely
she wouldn't see a simple phone call as being overly intrusive.
Putting more determination in the gesture than he really felt,
Mulder reached out and punched the speed dial button.
She answered on the third ring. "Is that you, Mulder?"
He felt a weight he hadn't even been aware of lift from his
shoulders. A dozen flippant responses flashed through his mind,
and he rejected them all. "Yeah, it's me," he said. He paused for
a second, then said, "I just wanted to let you know we got here.
We're at a fleabag called the Motel Fleur de Lys; you'd love it."
He heard a chuckle at the other end of the line, but it sounded
forced rather than genuine, and the hairs on the back of his neck
prickled. Something was wrong.
He pushed the thought back down. How could anything be wrong? She
was in Washington, probably in her own apartment. She was fine.
She had to be fine.
"So," he said awkwardly. "How did the meeting with Skinner go?"
Was there a brief pause before she answered? Mulder couldn't be
sure. "It went okay," she said. "Better than I expected, in some
ways. We found out that the flight you and Andy are taking in the
morning is the last one until Monday, but Skinner's going to help
us arrange a charter. For me and Spender, I mean."
"That's good." Dammit, there *was* something wrong; he could hear
it in her voice. Something had upset her, or was upsetting her. If
only he could see her eyes ...
"Mulder, I'm not doing very well."
Mulder pulled the cell phone away from his ear for just a moment and
stared at it in shock. Jesus! She really *was* opening up to him.
He brought the phone back to his ear.
"Scully?" he asked, very softly. "What's wrong?"
There was a moment of silence, and he wondered if maybe she was
having second thoughts. Finally he heard a deep sigh at the other
end of the line. "Mulder, Skinner confirmed what looks like a
mass abduction, near Springfield, Illinois," she said, sounding
a little lost. "And I got back home, and was thinking I'd get
something to eat and go to bed." She paused, then went on,
"Anyway, I was standing here in my bedroom, and it was dark,
and ..."
Her voice trailed off, but. Mulder remained silent, waiting for
her to finish her thought. Finally, she blurted out, "Mulder, I'm
just ... I'm scared. And I ... I miss you. I wish you were here."
Mulder swallowed to force down the lump that was suddenly forming
in his throat. He searched frantically for something to say; he'd
been waiting for this moment for years, and he didn't want to blow
it.
"I wish I were there, too, Scully," he said, finally. "And I wish
I could tell you there's no reason for you to be afraid."
"I know." Another moment passed in silence. At last she said,
"Mulder?"
"Yeah, Scully?"
"This is really it, isn't it?"
He hesitated, then replied, "Yes, I think it is."
"So do I." More silence. "Mulder, I don't want to believe. Why
does it have to be like this?"
"I don't know, Scully. Just one of those things, I guess." God, he
wished he could be there with her. He wanted to take her in his
arms; they both needed the comfort. But she was far away. Or he
was.
"I guess so." There was still another silence, and Mulder closed
his eyes for a moment and listened to her breathe.
Finally she said, "Mulder, I think I'd better go. We both need to
get some sleep." After the very briefest of hesitations, and in
the softest of voices, she added: "I love you."
And then the connection was broken.
It was a long time before Fox Mulder was able to drift off to
sleep.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 21
==========
Kangiqsujuaq, Quebec
Friday, May 14, 1999
6:49 p.m.
As it turned out, the charter carrying Scully and Spender touched
down just three hours after the last commercial flight for the week
arrived in the small village. Scully glanced out the window as the
small plane rolled toward the tiny terminal and caught a glimpse of
a tall, dark, and handsome figure standing on the edge of the
tarmac.
She felt a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she
pulled out her briefcase and headed for the steps to the ground.
Bright sunlight assaulted her eyes as she emerged, and she had to
descend cautiously, watching the stairs.
She was on the bottom step when a pair of feet moved into her line
of vision. Her head popped up automatically, and she met Mulder's
gaze, his face mere inches from her own.
And she barely had a chance to take a breath before she was in his
arms and his mouth was on hers.
The kiss was deep but necessarily brief; Spender was still behind
her on the stairs. But when Mulder drew back, he slid one hand up
from her back to cup her face, dipped his mouth to hover near her
ear, and whispered, "I've always loved you, Scully."
She grinned at his words, finding her expression matched by his as
he finally released her and took her hand to lead her toward the
terminal. She finally tore her eyes away from his when they stepped
inside, and she saw Andy standing a few feet inside, looking past
the two of them.
Scully tightened her grip on Mulder's hand and led him a little
further across the room before turning back to face him. He looked
puzzled, and she inclined her head in Andy's direction.
"Just thought they might want some privacy, too," she said. Mulder
glanced over, and they watched as Spender and Andy stood close
together, speaking in low tones.
Mulder shook his head as he turned back to Scully. "I have to say,
I'm a little surprised by that," he said, bemusement in his voice.
"They certainly don't seem like each other's type at first glance."
Scully felt her eyebrow lifting. "And we do?" she replied, drawing
a low chuckle from Mulder.
"Point conceded," he said, smiling as he bent down to drop another
small kiss on her mouth. Then he grew serious again. "As much as I
would love to just stand here and look at you, Scully, we need to
talk logistics. Andy and I think we've figured out where we need
to go, but we still have to figure out how to get there. And how
to get back out."
Scully looked up at him, a little surprised. "You found the ...
the base?" she asked.
"Kind of," Mulder said, releasing her hand and digging in the
pocket of his coat. He pulled out a rather crumpled map, then
turned to a nearby row of chairs to spread the paper out, lowering
himself to one knee as he worked.
Scully moved closer, bending down to see as he began to explain.
"We got this map here, in the terminal right after we landed," he
said, glancing back at her every few seconds as he spoke. "It's got
a lot more detail than anything we could have found anywhere else.
There aren't that many roads up here, because it's so sparsely
populated. But then I didn't expect to find a road leading us right
to the front door."
Scully nodded in acknowledgement but didn't say anything. She knew
Mulder would get to the point soon enough.
"Anyway," he continued, "I wish I could take credit for this one.
It turned out to be pretty obvious, and Andy and I both were
kicking ourselves when she saw it."
He brought up one finger and placed it on the map, about an inch
to the left of Kangiqsujuaq. There, right on the northern
coastline, was a tiny little dot labeled with the name "Deception."
"Deception," Scully murmured. "It's Deception. That's what ..."
"That's what Diana was trying to tell us," Mulder finished, looking
up at Scully, the corner of his mouth twisting. "Even her last
words were a betrayal."
Scully frowned. "Mulder," she said, hesitantly. "If she was trying
to tell us where we needed to go ..."
"I didn't mean a betrayal to us, or me, Scully," he said, rising to
his feet and starting to fold up the map. "I mean a betrayal of
C.G.B. Spender or the Syndicate or whatever. She apparently never
did hold loyalty in very high esteem."
Scully had no answer to that, so instead she glanced over to see
Spender and Andy walking toward them. She looked back at Mulder
and said, "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Is there some
place we can get some food and talk strategy at the same time?"
Mulder nodded. "There's a restaurant, a diner, really, attached to
the one motel in the village," he said. "We got two rooms there.
The manager told us we were lucky; the place is so small that it
stays booked up most of the time." He quirked a half-grin.
"Although I can't imagine why this place gets much in the way of
tourism. Seen one snowdrift, you've seen 'em all."
Scully obligingly smiled at the line, just as Spender and Andy
stopped in front of them.
"Did you tell her?" Andy asked immediately.
"Yeah," Mulder said. "We're gonna go get some food and talk
strategy."
Scully glanced at Spender, who was only nodding; Andy had
apparently filled him in as well.
"Well," Scully said. "Let's get going, then."
==========
Le Cafe Point du Nord
7:58 p.m.
"It looks like a little over 100 miles," Mulder commented, leaning
over the map they had spread out on the table in front of them.
Scully sat next to him in the booth, while Spender and Andy looked
on from the other side. The remains of dinner had been pushed to
one side to make room for the map. "Probably 150 by the time you
account for all the twists and turns the road takes."
Spender reached out and touched his finger to the spot marking the
location of Deception. "Are you sure this is the place?" he asked
doubtfully.
Mulder looked over at Andy, who in turn looked at Spender and
nodded vigorously. "As sure as we can be," she said. "In addition
to Agent Fowley's last words, we nosed around the terminal this
afternoon asking questions, and found that there've been a *lot*
of inbound military flights in the last few days." She shrugged.
"Of course, around here *one* flight would be a lot. But there
were so many that one of the groundcrew started keeping count, and
she said thirty-seven military transports have landed at the
airport here since Tuesday morning."
Spender whistled softly and turned back to look at Mulder -- and
for the first time since they'd met in Michigan, Mulder thought he
detected a glimmer of respect in the other man's eyes. "It looks
like you've nailed it, then." He paused, then went on, "So what's
the plan?"
Mulder hesitated, then shrugged. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I
suppose the first step would be to find the actual location. The
installation won't be in Deception itself, I don't imagine, but
it'll be nearby. And trying to hide something like that is pretty
futile, even in an area as sparsely populated as this."
Andy nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure that if the installation really is
somewhere close by, the locals know all about it. They may not know
what's out there, exactly, but they pretty much have to know
*something* is out there."
"So what do we do when we find this place?" Scully asked quietly --
and Mulder was surprised to hear what sounded like a slight quiver
of fear in her voice. He turned his head sharply to look at her,
but her face seemed calm -- except for her eyes. Something about
this was really bothering her.
And then he had it, and he cursed himself for missing the obvious.
The last time she had been at a place like this installation they
were seeking she'd been a prisoner, and only Mulder's intervention
had saved her from being an incubator for one of the embryonic
Colonists.
He caught her eye and nodded slightly, then slid his hand along the
seat until it met with hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"I suppose we start with a simple reconnoiter," Andy was saying,
as Mulder turned his attention back to the conversation. "Like we
did at Fort Benning, but hopefully better organized."
Scully gave a small sigh, but this time when she spoke her voice
was steady. "So I guess our first step would be to find some
transportation."
Andy nodded. "That clunker Mulder and I rented sure isn't going to
be up to this sort of terrain; it's strictly for in-town use." She
slid out of the booth and jumped to her feet, and Mulder was
unsurprised to see Spender following suit.
"Look, why don't you two go lie down and get some rest," Andy went
on. "Jeff and I will go see what we can find in the way of wheels,
and the four of us can get back together around midnight. Sunset
isn't for another couple of hours yet, and we'll want it to be
plenty dark."
She caught Spender's eye, and for just an instant Mulder thought
she was going to reach out and take the former agent's hand -- but
then the two of them simply turned and walked out of the diner.
==========
L'Hotel Point du Nord
11:42 p.m.
Mulder awoke slowly, in near total darkness. For a moment he was
disoriented, and the feel of another body nestled against his side
confused him even more -- and then he remembered. Scully.
This time they had not even discussed the sleeping arrangements;
Scully had simply followed him to his room. She had disappeared
down the hall to the bathroom long enough to change into sweats,
and then had come back and curled up in his arms and gone promptly
to sleep. Mulder had quickly followed.
And he had slept. Well.
"Hi."
His partner's voice brought him out of his reverie, and he looked
down to see her peering up at him in the dim light. He smiled, and
bent down and brushed his lips lightly against hers.
"Hi yourself," he murmured, drawing her in a little closer.
Scully closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest, and
for a pair of minutes Mulder simply held her and listened to her
breathe. Finally, without opening her eyes, she said, "I had the
strangest dream just now."
Mulder remained quiet, waiting to see if she would continue. When
it became evident that she was not inclined to do so, he said, "Do
you want to tell me about it?"
"I think so." She paused again, as if she were gathering courage,
and Mulder gently stroked her back, trying to lend her strength.
After another moment, she said, "We were standing in the hallway
outside your apartment. You know. That day."
Scully opened her eyes and looked up at him, a questioning look on
her face. "Mulder?" she asked. "Why did we never talk about that?
After I got back, I mean. After you got me back."
Mulder hesitated. There were so many different answers to that
question, and none of them were really satisfactory. Hell, he
didn't even really know which answer was the right one. He just
knew that in those few moments when he'd thought she was leaving
he had panicked and reached out for her -- and then when all the
dust had settled and they'd both been safe back in Washington,
everything had seemed different.
He realized she was waiting for his response, still looking up at
him with those beautiful blue eyes. He shook his head slowly. "I
don't know, Scully," he said quietly. "Why do you think we haven't
talked about it?"
"I don't know, either," she said, and again she fell silent, and
seemed to study his face. Finally: "I dream about that day a lot,
you know. About that moment."
"In the hallway, you mean?"
"Yeah." She nodded slowly, and continued, "And it always ends the
same. Or at least it always has. It always ends with me being
stung, and then I fall and fall and fall, and nothing ever stops
me. I keep waiting for something to stop me -- I keep waiting for
*you* to stop me, to catch me. But you never do. I just keep
falling, forever."
Mulder nodded slightly, trying to ignore the pain her words were
evoking in his heart. "Is that what happened this time?"
"No." His partner shook her head, and Mulder felt his eyes widen
as he saw a look of wonder spreading across her face. "This
time ... this time you caught me." She reached up with one hand
and lightly touched his cheek. "You caught me, Mulder," she
repeated, and the tone of relief and joy in her voice brought
tears to his eyes.
"Scully ..."
Before he could do more than utter her name she was kissing him,
and Mulder felt himself rapidly sinking into a warm, golden haze.
All other thoughts and feelings were banished; Scully was his
entire universe, warm and soft and alive and gently moving in his
arms. He tried to gather her in closer; he didn't want any space
between them at all ...
At long last their lips parted, and Mulder pulled back from her
just far enough to allow him to see her face.
God, she was beautiful. So beautiful. During the kiss she had
rolled onto her back and pulled him along with her; now her head
lay back on the pillow, eyes still closed and lips slightly
parted, and her hair was splayed out around her like a crown of
fire. And for the second time in as many minutes Mulder felt tears
forming in his eyes ...
"Mulder?"
Again her voice pulled him back to reality, and allowed him to
focus. Her eyes were open again, and she was gazing up at him with
a look of open adoration which he knew must also be apparent in his
own features. He allowed his eyes to drift shut as he bent down to
kiss her again -- and there was a knock on the door.
Mulder swore softly and opened his eyes, to see his partner still
looking up at him, but now she had a wry expression on her face.
"We never seem to get any breaks, do we?" she murmured, pulling
his head down for one more brief kiss before she released him and
slid out of bed to answer the door.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 22
==========
Near Deception, Quebec
Saturday, May 15, 1999
3:37 a.m.
As the Humvee bounced over another rut, Scully wished yet again that
she'd grabbed a pillow from the motel room to sit on. The surplus
military vehicle might be just perfect for handling the terrain, but
it certainly wasn't built for comfort -- particularly for those in
the back seat, where she and Mulder sat.
They'd been jostled around for nearly an hour now, and Scully was
beginning to think they'd taken the wrong turnoff. Andy and Jeff
had been doubly lucky when they managed to track down and borrow the
Humvee; the owner, who was glad to let them use it for a nominal fee
of only $500, was also a wealth of local information and dispensed
his knowledge freely. He'd told them about the new ruts that had
developed at a point about halfway between Kangiqsujuaq and
Deception, and about the military trucks he'd seen nearby.
They'd found what looked like the right spot with little difficulty,
which only served to make them all suspicious. But, as Andy pointed
out from her position in the driver's seat, they *were* in an
extremely remote area. It wasn't like their adversaries had to worry
about tourists stumbling upon the base by accident.
The Humvee hit a particularly deep rut, sending Scully flying nearly
a foot into the air, and she landed back on the seat hard. Pain shot
out from her hip, and she let out an involuntary groan,
automatically shifting to her right to get her weight off her left
side.
"You okay, Scully?" She looked up into Mulder's face, bent down near
hers, and she nodded.
"I'm fine," she said, successfully fighting the urge to rub the sore
spot on her left buttock.
Mulder's teeth flashed in the dim light as he grinned. Leaning in
closer to her ear, he murmured, "Want me to kiss it and make it all
better?"
Scully shot him a reproachful look, but he was unrepentant, his
smile widening into a leer as he leaned back against the seat.
Scully shook her head, a smile playing at the corners of her own
mouth, as she carefully settled back down into the seat.
Andy's voice came from the front seat. "Looks like there's some
lights up ahead," she said, her voice low but intense. "I'm turning
the headlights off."
Scully leaned forward to look out the front windshield, the view
much better without the glow from the headlights. The night was dark
and clear, and she could plainly see a few small dots of light
directly ahead of them.
"What do you think?" Andy asked, already slowing down. "Call for
backup?"
Mulder slid forward in his seat immediately. "Backup?" he asked, his
voice incredulous. "From who? And for what? We don't have any way
to know what we need until we get inside and see what's going on."
"We can't go in blind," Andy shot back.
"And we don't have time to waste," Mulder answered.
"It's foolhardy," Andy insisted.
Scully felt like she was watching a ping-pong game. "All right,
enough," she cut in. "Either we go in or we don't. Can we at least
discuss it rationally first?" She looked back and forth between Andy
and Mulder. "Mulder," she said. "Why should we go in?"
Mulder took one deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Okay," he said,
speaking slowly. "We already have an idea of what we're going to
find in there. But we have no idea how it's laid out, what kind of
security they have, or how fast things are running. Andy said it
herself earlier -- we need a reconnaissance of the place before we
can justify bringing in anyone else. And reconnaissance means more
than just finding where it is."
Scully nodded once, then turned to Andy. "Okay, Andy, what's your
side?"
"Too risky," Andy said bluntly. "Mulder said it -- we don't know how
it's laid out or what kind of security there is. Chances are we get
in there and can't get out, and that helps no one at all. We can't
just dive into this headlong."
Scully nodded again, then glanced at Spender. "Anything to add,
Spender?"
He shrugged, his eyes locked onto the lights in the distance. "We've
come a long way to not even take a look, but it would be risky
either way," he said, his tone noncommittal.
Great, Scully thought. One for, one against, one abstention. Which
left her to break the tie, or at least come up with a compromise.
"Okay," she said, slowly, a little surprised at her own lack of
caution. There was something bothering her about this whole
situation, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.
She felt a sense of unease, and not just because of the danger
involved.
"I think we should go in, but only a little way in," she said
firmly, leaning forward again to study the landscape. "It looks
like there's a hill or some trees over to the left," she added,
pointing in that direction. "Let's pull over there and try to get
closer on foot, get an idea of what things look like before we make
any more decisions."
She didn't get any argument, and she couldn't quite decide whether
or not that was a good thing.
==========
3:58 a.m.
Mulder jumped down from the passenger compartment of the Humvee,
stumbling slightly on the rough terrain. Then he found his footing,
and turned back to the vehicle to find that Scully and the other two
had followed suit, and were standing at the front of the vehicle,
gazing off in the direction of the lights Andy had spotted a few
minutes before. Mulder moved to join them, stopping next to Scully.
"What do you think they are?" he asked, bending his head down near
hers and resting his hand lightly on the small of her back.
She glanced up at him, and he was unsurprised to see that the
disquiet he'd noticed in her eyes while they were having dinner had
returned. But when she spoke her voice was calm and level.
Professional.
"We won't know until we get there," she replied.
Mulder studied her face for a moment, and for perhaps the thousandth
time in their partnership he wondered what she had done to deserve
all this. His own involvement went back decades, and had a certain
air of inevitability to it. But Scully -- she was really just an
innocent bystander, sucked in by a chain of events that sometimes
seemed very arbitrary and capricious.
"Mulder?" He blinked, and realized that she had reached up to
lightly touch his cheek. "It's okay, Mulder," she said softly. "I'm
where I want to be, remember?"
He hesitated, then nodded slightly. "Okay," he answered, just as
softly. "You just need to remind me of that sometimes." He glanced
up to see that Spender and Andy were studiously not watching them,
and his lips quirked slightly as he increased the pressure on the
small of Scully's back, guiding her around the front of the vehicle
and then in the direction of the distant lights. "Let's get moving,
people," he said in a more normal tone of voice. "Lay on, MacDuff."
For several minutes the four of them walked steadily towards the
lights, the silence broken only by the sounds of their breathing and
the crunch of shifting stones and gravel under their feet. It was
the dark of the moon, and the only illumination came from stars,
which made walking treacherous, but Mulder knew they'd be grateful
for the darkness once they'd reached their goal.
At length they came to the top of a small rise, and Mulder saw that
the lights they'd been approaching were actually set near the
ground, like runway guidance lights. He dropped to one knee, pulling
Scully down next to him, and was aware of Spender and Andy doing the
same, slightly to one side.
For a long moment, none of them moved or spoke, and Mulder continued
to study the scene. Now that they had a clear view of the lights, he
could see that they stood on short posts, perhaps three feet high,
and that the trail of ruts they'd been following led straight up to
them. And beyond the posts lay the sea.
"Looks like a gateway of some sort," Andy commented at last.
"Yeah, it does," Mulder replied. He studied the scene for just
another moment, then added, "Well, I don't think we're going to
learn anything useful from here. Shall we?" He glanced at Scully,
and she nodded briefly. The anxiety he'd seen earlier was still
there, but she seemed to have it under better control now.
He looked over at Andy and Spender, and saw that they were already
climbing to their feet, and a moment later the four of them were
moving cautiously forward.
As they approached the lights Mulder realized that the ruts actually
led between the posts and seemed to disappear off the edge of what
he now saw was a bluff standing perhaps fifty feet above the water
line. Moving past the lights and up to the cliff's edge, he could
see that the ruts turned sharply and followed what appeared to be a
switchback leading down the face of the cliff.
He turned and beckoned to the others, who were standing back a few
feet, examining the posts. "Come on," he said. "The trail goes down
towards the water."
Scully and Spender started to move forward, but Andy hesitated. "I
don't know," she said, her voice apparently causing the other two
to stop and turn back towards her. "We said we'd go in a little
ways, but there have to be limits."
Mulder shook his head. "We still haven't learned anything useful,"
he insisted. "Nothing that would convince anyone of what's going
on here. We have to go forward." He moved back to the others and
stopped in front of his partner. "Scully," he said, looking down at
her. "We have to go forward. I know I've said this before, but I
think this is really it this time. This is what we've been looking
for all these years."
Scully looked at him for a minute in the darkness, and then she
finally nodded. "Mulder's right," she said quietly. "Let's get it
over with." And she brushed past him and headed down the switchback.
==========
4:07 a.m.
The switchback descended quickly underground, into a tunnel sloping
down rather sharply, and illuminated only by small, yellowish lights
set into the wall every few feet. After a short distance Mulder had
overtaken Scully, and now he led the way, Scully just behind, with
all four of them staying near the left side of the passageway. The
floor of the tunnel was rocky and uneven, making the footing
treacherous, and the odd shadows cast by the inadequate lighting
only made matters worse.
They had been walking only a few minutes when Scully saw a brief
flash of light ahead. She stopped in her tracks, reaching forward to
grab Mulder's arm and stop him, and for a long, breathless moment
they all waited to see if the flash would come again.
When nothing happened after several minutes, Scully released Mulder,
who glanced back at her. She nodded, and they started moving forward
again.
A short time later the tunnel began to widen, and soon the group
was standing at the edge of a large room, well-lit enough for them
to see it was filled with military-style vehicles of nearly every
kind imaginable. Desert sand and jungle green camouflage designs
alternated throughout the room, interspersed with the occasional
plain olive drab.
Mulder's voice drew Scully's attention. "Your tax dollars at work,"
he muttered.
Scully didn't respond, still scanning the room carefully. A set of
wide, industrial-style double doors sat along the wall opposite
them, but she could see no other openings into whatever lay beyond.
No windows, no smaller doors, not even any signs of ventilation,
though she knew there must be some way for air to circulate.
Beside her, Mulder shifted again, and she glanced over to see him
pulling his cell phone from his pocket. Her eyes widened in alarm.
He wasn't really going to try to use that thing here, was he?
It didn't matter. Almost before the phone cleared his jacket, Andy
was right there, snatching it out of his hand.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed, eyes
flashing.
"Calling for your precious backup," Mulder growled back. "And here I
thought you'd be thrilled."
Andy snorted. "Sending out a beacon to whoever runs this place is
more like it," she said. "Ever stop to think just *how* any cell
phone signal would get relayed out of this place? If the thing
worked at all -- which is a big 'if' -- the relay stations would
have been set up by whoever built the base. And somehow I think
they'd notice if we tried to use them."
Mulder seemed inclined to continue arguing, so Scully intervened.
"She's right, Mulder," she said. "We need to get out of here before
we try to call for backup. There's no telling who might hear --"
"Hey!"
The voice came from somewhere out in the garage, and the group froze
in place. Scully's gaze shot out toward the source of the sound, and
she spotted a figure wearing green fatigues standing near the center
of the room -- and then the man broke and ran.
Scully realized in that instant that they had to do something about
whoever this was. If he spread an alarm, not only would they likely
never get out alive, but the base would also probably be
disassembled and moved within days.
Andy had apparently reached the same conclusion, because when Scully
glanced back at her the reporter was already drawing her weapon --
but this time it was Mulder who immediately reached out and grabbed
it away.
Before Andy could even protest, he said, "We can't shoot anyone. We
don't know which ones might be hybrids."
"So?" Andy's voice sounded furious. "What the hell does that
matter?"
Scully couldn't believe they'd missed such an important fact in all
they'd told her. She was urgently aware of the stranger's rapidly
receding footsteps, but she also knew that Andy had to understand
this crucial point before they could proceed -- and then Spender
was stepping in, reaching out to place a hand on Andy's arm.
"Their blood is toxic," the former agent said, quietly and
patiently. "If you shoot one, it's much more likely to kill you
than to harm ... it."
Andy's eyes widened, but she didn't protest again; she simply held
her hand out for her gun. Mulder hurriedly passed it over, then
turned and sprinted in pursuit of the stranger.
Scully hesitated for a fraction of a second, still looking at
Spender and Andy, and then she took off after her partner -- and in
another instant she heard footsteps behind her as Andy and Spender
joined in the chase.
Scully rounded a parked truck just in time to see the man they were
pursuing pass through the doors she'd noted early. With only a
second's hesitation, Mulder followed.
==========
4:13 a.m.
As Mulder stepped across the threshold, he was struck by an intense
feeling of deja vu -- and he knew in that instant that this must be
another spaceship like the one in Antarctica. Everything was the
same, from the dim, blue-and-white lighting, to the strange,
metallic architecture, to the ugly, functional retrofitting
obviously intended to accommodate human needs.
All of this passed through his mind in a fraction of a second, and
then he took a deep breath and firmly suppressed the panic attack
that threatened to overwhelm him. He didn't have time for this; not
now. Already his quarry's footsteps were fading into the distance,
and that could not be allowed to happen.
Mulder took another deep breath and once again started running, and
he was gratified to find himself rapidly gaining ground. The man he
was pursuing had made the typical non-runner's mistake of going all-
out from the very beginning, and now Mulder's even, steady stride
was allowing him to make up the initial deficit as his adversary's
strength started to fade.
Mulder was distantly aware of other footsteps behind him, and knew
they must belong to Scully and the others, but that was unimportant.
All that mattered was the figure ahead of him, and the rapidly
closing distance between them.
Since passing through the doorway they'd been running down a broad,
dimly lit passageway. The rock and litter-strewn floor had been
covered over by a metallic grating, which made the going much easier
than it had been in the outer cavern. Now they rounded a corner, and
the passage abruptly widened into a large open space, with the
grating becoming a catwalk bridging over an immense emptiness. Only
another ten feet separating them now ...
Abruptly the stranger stumbled, and in an instant Mulder was on him
and wrestling him to the ground. The catwalk jumped and shimmied as
the two men fought, but Mulder forced awareness of their precarious
situation out of his mind.
He quickly found himself straddling the man's hips, holding him
down, and the agent drew his fist back and struck his opponent in
the jaw once, twice, three times, and finally the other man was
still.
Mulder waited for a moment, to make sure the stranger wasn't playing
possum, but the man really did seem to be out. At last, chest still
heaving slightly from the exertion, the agent took his handcuffs off
his belt and snapped one end on the man's right wrist and affixed
the other to the catwalk's guardrail. Then Mulder struggled
awkwardly to his feet, keeping his eyes on the stranger as he did.
He backed away a couple of steps, and when he was sure he was
finally out of lunging range he allowed his gaze to drift up from
his opponent and take in his surroundings.
And his eyes widened in horror.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 23
==========
4:18 a.m.
If Scully hadn't known it was medically impossible, she would have
sworn every metabolic process in her body had simply ceased.
She didn't notice the slight sway of the catwalk where she stood.
She couldn't hear anything but the roaring in her own ears. Every
sense, every nerve, every single part of her body was focused on
simply absorbing the sight before her.
The room was vast; her brain would offer no other word for it. She
could barely see the ceiling and far wall in the dim, blue-green
light, and she could not see the bottom at all.
But she remembered it.
Her recollection of the events in Antarctica had been hazy at best
from the very beginning. She knew she'd been cold, and that she and
Mulder had climbed up a long way to get back to the surface. But her
eyesight had been cloudy the whole time, and she'd even stopped
breathing at one point. How could she be expected to remember
anything clearly?
Now, she didn't need to. She was staring right at it, on a smaller
scale. The metal, lit with a surreal glow from somewhere within.
The multiple levels of catwalks, just like the one she stood on.
The pipes. The vapor in the air.
The carriers.
Scully could see these on a lower level, about a hundred feet down,
lined up against the wall. Her view was obscured by the darkness,
but she could tell the glass was coated with fog, or ice. These, she
knew, were full. Others waited out of sight, she was sure.
Suddenly the scene before her was gone, and her vision filled with
green. A horrible taste filled her mouth, and she began to shiver
violently.
"Scully!"
She could hear Mulder's voice, could almost see his face, but her
eyes would not focus in on him.
"Scully!" This time, her name was accompanied by hands on her
arms, shaking her hard. She blinked once, gasped in a breath, then
blinked again, and her vision cleared.
Mulder stood in front of her, fingers wrapped around her upper arms,
staring intently into her face.
"Scully, are you okay?" he asked urgently.
Scully nodded jerkily. "Yeah ... yeah," she said, her voice raspy.
"I'm ... I'm okay."
Mulder seemed reluctant to believe her, but she managed a small,
shaky smile. "It's okay," she said, her voice stronger. "I'm okay
now."
Mulder stared at her a moment longer, then nodded slowly. "Okay," he
said, gradually releasing her arms.
Scully rolled her shoulders, freeing some of the tension that had
built there, then turned to face the others.
Andy and Spender were standing a few feet away, watching her in
silence. Scully offered another brief smile, then glanced down at
the man lying nearby, still unconscious. She flicked a hand in his
direction.
"We need to get him off in a corner or something, maybe gag him," she
said, hoping she sounded a little more like herself. "We can't just
leave him here --"
She broke off at a noise from the far end of the catwalk, and the
four turned in that direction. A door was opening, and several
men stepped out, shining flashlights around. One of them called out,
"Carl? You there?"
"Shit!" Andy spat out, spinning on her heel. "Go! Go!"
The others obeyed without question, heading down the catwalk toward
another set of doors leading further into the base.
==========
The door at the end of the catwalk opened onto another passageway,
similar in dimensions to the one which had led them into the ship in
the first place. But where the other passage had been crudely
retrofitted for human use, this one must have been completely made
over with that purpose in mind, right down to the particle board
veneer lining the walls and the thin nylon carpet underneath their
feet.
Mulder paused for a moment and glanced first one way and then the
other, trying to decide which direction to turn. There were no signs
or other indicators, however, and his companions were already piling
through the doorway close on his heels -- and the sounds of pursuit
were rapidly drawing nearer.
"This way!" Mulder snapped, arbitrarily turning to the left and
heading down the passage at a fast trot. The others followed along
behind, and for a moment or two the silence was broken only by the
sound of their breathing.
As they jogged along the hallway, Mulder slowly came to realize that
it was curving gradually to the left, and that the floor was sloping
gently downward. There were doors set in the walls on either side
every 20 or 30 feet, and from time to time he stopped to try a few
of them, but they were all locked.
At least they seemed to have eluded their pursuers -- for the moment,
anyway. Mulder wasn't quite sure how that had happened, nor was he
sure why there hadn't been a general alarm, but he wasn't about to
look a gift horse in the mouth right at the moment.
One thing he did know was that they needed to get turned around, and
fast. The passage they were following was continuing to slope
downward -- and if anything, the gradient was increasing the farther
they progressed. That was not good; they needed to be going up, not
down. No matter how quiet things seemed, Mulder knew it was only a
matter of time before they ran into more trouble than they could
handle.
"Shit!"
Mulder spun around at the sound of Andy's voice, to find that she
was facing to the rear, and once again had her weapon out and
pointed downrange. The reason was obvious: Two men dressed in combat
fatigues were cautiously advancing towards the group from the bend
in the passageway, automatic rifles at the ready.
"Jeff!" Andy said sharply. "Tell me again why I can't shoot these
motherfuckers."
She never got an answer, because the soldier in the lead chose that
moment to raise his rifle as if to fire. But Andy was quicker, and
for a few seconds the sound of gunfire filled the corridor.
Too far away to do anything to help, Mulder could only watch in
horror as Andy's shots hit home -- and instead of falling to the
floor the man only staggered slightly. Then, a familiar green fluid
began oozing from what should have been a fatal chest wound.
"Jesus motherfucking Christ!" Mulder heard the words reverberate for
several seconds before realizing that it was he himself who had
shouted them. Then he was slamming his shoulder up against the
nearest door, trying to force it open, but to no avail. Any second
he expected to feel the burning sensation in his eyes which he had
last felt as he ran from the nursing home in San Diego ...
"Mulder! Stand clear!"
Mulder barely had time to back away on hearing his partner's command
before her Sig Sauer was roaring into action, blasting the door's
lock into a dozen pieces or more. The door swung open, and Mulder
grabbed Scully's wrist and propelled her through entrance, following
in her wake a fraction of a second later. He got only a brief
impression of being in a medium-sized conference room -- before his
toe caught on something and he went tumbling to the floor, his head
connecting solidly against the hard metal.
"Mulder? Mulder, are you okay?"
Mulder shook his head, and opened his eyes to see Scully kneeling
next to him, concern battling with anxiety for control of her
features. For a moment her face swam in front of him; then he
blinked hard and it stabilized. "Are you with me, Partner?" she
asked. And Mulder nodded and allowed her to help him to his feet.
"Where are Andy and Spender?" he asked.
"I don't know," she replied. "You were only out for a few seconds,
but --"
"Right here."
The two agents turned to see Jeff Spender standing in the open
doorway, his arm around Andy's shoulders, clearly holding her up.
Her face was drawn and ashen, but even as they watched the color
seemed to be returning. Scully moved towards her, but Andy shook her
head.
"I'm okay," she gasped. "Just a little woozy for a minute." She
looked up at Spender. "I wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for
Jeff." Her strength appeared to be rapidly returning, but she didn't
seem to be inclined to step away from the former agent's semi-
embrace.
"What happened?" Mulder asked.
Spender shrugged. "They were about to shoot," he said, and held up
his free hand to reveal one of the gimlet weapons. "I did what I had
to do. There's no toxin once they're dead." He half-smiled, grimly.
"Good thing I always carry a backup," he said by way of explanation,
since Scully had taken one of the weapons from him before.
"What is this place?" Scully's voice drew Mulder's attention, and
he turned to see that she had stepped over to examine a cork
bulletin board at the far end of the room. As he moved to join her,
he saw that there was a Mercator projection of the world pinned to
it, with a series of dots in various colors sprinkled across it,
seemingly at random.
"Look at this," Scully said. She raised one finger and indicated a
bright red spot in northern Quebec, which Mulder quickly recognized
as their current position.
"That's this base," he said.
Scully nodded. "And over here," she said, her finger traveling to a
spot in north central Siberia, "is another one." She glanced up at
Mulder, and he nodded his understanding. She continued, "But those
are the only red ones."
Mulder peered a little closer to the map, and saw that she was
correct. Then he looked a little closer at the other dots -- some
were blue, and others were yellow, and there were small notations
written next to each one. There was a pattern there, but he couldn't
quite see it.
"Ruskin Dam," Scully said suddenly, pointing at one of the blue dots.
Her finger moved, and she said, "Skyland Mountain." It moved again.
"Kazakhstan."
"The lighthouses," Mulder murmured. "The abduction points from last
year."
Scully nodded, and in the background Mulder was dimly aware of
Spender giving Andy a quick explanation of the significance of those
points. There were more blue dots, but Mulder was no longer
interested in those; he knew what they were. Now he leaned even
closer to the map and studied the yellow marks -- and he felt the
hair stand up on the back of his neck.
"Columbus," he whispered. "Cedar Rapids. Springfield, Illinois.
Eugene, Oregon. Wichita, Kansas." His gaze flicked across the map;
there were easily a dozen more such dots in the Americas alone, and
more in Europe, Asia and Africa. The small notations, he now saw,
were dates. Some had passed, but most -- like the one for Wichita --
appeared to lie in the next two weeks.
He looked down at Scully, and she nodded soberly. "This really is
it, then," she said. Not that either one of them had any real doubt
at this point -- but seeing it laid out like this with military
precision made it seem even more real, even more menacing.
And at that moment alarm bells started ringing, sounding to Mulder
like the crack of doom.
==========
4:32 a.m.
Scully spun on her heel as the alarms sounded. "Dammit!" she yelled,
running for the still-open door, where she could see lights flashing
outside in time to the ringing bells.
She slammed the door shut, then realized the lock was demolished and
there was no way to secure it.
Suddenly Spender was at her side, holding a long, metal rod with
rubber tips at each end. "Here," he said, reaching for the door.
"Don't know what this is, but it was over in the corner. We can set
this to brace the door shut. It's pretty heavy-gauge steel; should
do the job for a while, anyway, until we figure out what to do
next."
"There's another door over here!" Andy's voice rang out, and Scully
turned to see the reporter easing the door open and carefully
looking out. In seconds, Andy turned back and said, "Looks clear
this way!"
Scully checked back to see that Spender had finished bracing the
bar, then looked around for Mulder. She spotted him at a table
across the room, shuffling through piles of papers, and hurried
over to join him.
"Mulder, we've got to go," she said urgently. "We have to find a
way out of here, and fast."
"There's got to be something here, Scully," he said, not slowing in
his search. "There has to be some kind of evidence we can use."
He looked up at her, his eyes wild. "We can't let them get away
with this. Not again."
Scully reached out a hand to cover one of his, holding it still.
"They won't, Mulder," she said. "Not if we get out of here and get
backup. But we have to *go*."
Mulder grabbed for one of the stacks and shoved several sheets in
the inside pocket of his jacket, then picked up a few more and
turned toward the door, where Andy and Spender were waiting.
Andy glanced at the papers he held, then paused and looked closer.
"Those look like ... are they in Russian?"
Scully looked at the paper as Mulder lifted it toward Andy. "I
think they all are," he said, his voice weary. "I was trying to
find something in English."
Andy reached out and took the top sheet, studying the Cyrillic
characters for a moment. Then she pointed at a word. "Proekt," she
said. "That's 'project.'" Her fingers moved to another word. "This
one is 'merchandise' -- tovar. And there's something about Siberia."
Scully felt her eyes widen. "You know Russian?" she asked.
"A little," Andy said, her voice sounding distracted as she continued
studying the paper. Then she shook her head. "What the hell am I
doing?" she barked out, shoving the paper into her own pocket. "We
can worry about that when we get out."
She yanked the door open, and the four stepped out into another
hallway with the same paneling-and-carpet design as the previous
one. The floor still sloped down, but this hall was narrower, with
dimmer lighting. Scully could see flashes in both directions,
apparently the same alarm lights she saw from the other doorway,
but from farther away.
"Which way?" Andy asked immediately.
"Left," Mulder said, already heading that direction and calling
back over his shoulder. "That should take us back toward the main
entrance, at least."
No one argued, simply taking off after him. They ran for a few
hundred yards until they passed another set of double doors on the
left, and Mulder pushed his way through, the others following --
and then coming to a complete standstill.
They had reached the lower level Scully had glimpsed from above.
And they were surrounded by incubators.
Scully sucked in one long, hard breath at the sight. Directly in
front of her was a fog-covered carrier filled with a green, jelly-
like substance. Behind the glass, she could see the face of a woman,
frozen into a mask of terror.
Before she could react, though -- before she could even move -- the
entire room shook violently around them.
"Holy shit!" Andy exclaimed, fighting to keep her balance. "What the
hell was that?"
"I don't know," Mulder answered, turning back toward the door, "but
I'd say it's our cue to get the hell out of here."
He flung the doors open ... and standing less than ten yards away
from him was a man who had no face.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
==========
Chapter 24
==========
4:47 a.m.
Mulder froze, and for a second he was tempted to slam the door and
turn back into the main chamber. The faceless man was half-turned
away, so that Mulder could see only his profile; he was holding a
long metal object which Mulder could only assume was a weapon of
some sort.
And as he watched, the man's arms lifted, and a sheet of flame shot
from the far end of the rod. The paneling on the wall caught fire
almost immediately, the orange-red spreading quickly toward the
ceiling.
Mulder had only a split-second to decide what to do. He knew
Spender had indicated the Rebels might ultimately be on the same
side, but somehow he doubted they were stopping to check IDs as
they went. Any moment, the man would turn and see them, and it
would all be over -- and so the agent did the only thing he could
do.
"Run!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, hurling himself at the
intruder. His shoulder struck the other man's back with a satisfying
thud.
The blow barely fazed the faceless man, who simply staggered a few
steps forward. Mulder had barely regained his own footing when the
other man turned in his direction, moving slowly, as if unsure of
his surroundings.
And then Mulder felt a hand on his arm, pulling him back, and heard
Spender's voice in his ear. "Mulder!" the former agent yelled, then
looked toward the faceless man and yelled again, something
completely undecipherable and definitely no language Mulder
recognized.
The faceless man paused, then seemed to nod, and Spender began
backing down the hall, pulling Mulder along with him. Mulder kept
his eyes on the faceless man for another few seconds, before turning
and running in the other direction, Spender at his side.
"That'll only work once," Spender yelled as they ran, before Mulder
could even ask what the former agent said. "So next time, we just
run!"
Mulder nodded as he caught sight of the two women, who were waiting
a few dozen yards further up the hall. Andy's hand was on Scully's
arm, as if holding her in place, but when they saw Mulder and
Spender approaching, they turned and ran as well, following the
corridor as it continued to curve slightly down and to the left.
Within a few steps Mulder found himself in the lead once again. His
gaze whipped from side to side, looking for a chance to turn aside,
but nothing was presenting itself. The regularly spaced doors and
particle board veneer which they had seen further up the passageway
had given way to plain metal walls, with bare fluorescent light
fixtures providing the only illumination.
The ship rocked and heaved once again, and Mulder staggered as the
floor moved beneath his feet. He bounced off one wall, then managed
to regain his balance as Andy grabbed one elbow to keep him from
falling. He flashed the reporter a grateful nod, and then they were
running again.
Finally he rounded a bend in the passageway -- and was forced to
skid to a halt as the path dead-ended into a cross-corridor.
Mulder looked left and right, then paused as his eyes caught a
glimpse of movement along the floor. And he swore.
"What is it?" Scully asked breathlessly as she came to a stop next
to him.
"Water," he said briefly, and knelt down to dip his finger in
the water that was rapidly streaming into the intersection from two
of the three branches of the corridor. It was cold, icy cold, and
when he brought his finger to his lips it tasted of salt.
"Seawater," he clarified, climbing rapidly back to his feet and
looking around. "We've got to find another way out."
He glanced back the way they'd come, then down the cross-corridor to
the left, where he glimpsed what looked like a faint reflection of
the flashing lights they'd seen earlier.
He stepped further down the hall, and realized there was another
passageway there, a short distance ahead. This one appeared to be
straight and ramped up, and Mulder didn't hesitate.
"Here!" he yelled, leading the way up.
The rampway ran about a hundred feet to yet another set of double
doors, and Mulder hit the doors at a dead run, bursting through into
the room beyond.
Immediately, he slammed on the brakes and bellowed out, "SHIT!"
================
Scully was just steps behind Mulder, and a loud humming sound
assaulted her as she pulled up at the doorway and took in the
situation. They were apparently back on the same level of the main
chamber where they'd been a few minutes earlier, several dozen yards
further around the edge of the room. There were no carriers in this
particular spot, though she could see them lined up in both
directions, curving around the wall. More hung from some sort of
conveyor system, suspended in rows across the chamber from near
where they stood straight across to the other side.
As she took in all that, Scully also saw that a series of narrow
catwalks interspersed with short staircases stretched from a few
feet in front of them all the way across the room to a doorway
several levels above them. That doorway, she realized, was the spot
where they'd come in -- and the area around it appeared to be
deserted.
Mulder was moving forward by then, heading in that very direction,
with one hand hovering near the railing running on either side of
the metal catwalk as he moved. He glanced back, and Scully started
after him automatically, knowing none of them would ever make
themselves heard over the noise, which was gradually increasing in
volume.
She checked behind her once to be sure Andy and Spender were
falling in line behind her, then kept her gaze focused on Mulder's
back as they navigated the narrow walkway.
They were almost halfway across when they were jolted violently
again, and Scully almost lost her footing, grabbing with both hands
to the railings to keep her balance. She glanced back and saw that
Spender had one hand wrapped around the railing and his other arm
around Andy's waist; he caught Scully's eye and mouthed "Go!"
Scully did, whirling back around and continuing after Mulder. And
then, above the rising hum, she heard a horrible scratching sound
to her left, and she looked in that direction.
And wished she hadn't.
The sound had apparently come from one of the carriers, which she
could see were starting to thaw. And inside she could see a ...
thing ... creature ... scratching at the glass, as if trying to
break out of its cage.
Scully felt as if her lungs were being sucked out of her body
through a straw.
Then she was being yanked back, and she stumbled, feeling herself
start to fall toward the oblivion below.
Until a strong pair of arms wrapped around her, pulling her away
from the abyss.
========
Mulder cursed as he and Scully teetered on the brink. The incubator
chamber was spread out below them, and in those few frantic seconds
he saw figures moving among the carriers, with plumes of flame
erupting in at least half a dozen places. He knew that if he could
just windmill his arms he could probably save himself -- but that
would mean letting go of Scully.
Somehow he managed to twist and lunge, and finally the two partners
were stumbling back onto more secure footing. "Watch that first
step," he muttered, Scully flashed him a reassuring smile, and then
they were climbing toward the doorway again, with Andy and Spender
close behind them.
It was definitely growing warmer in the chamber, and as Mulder moved
he could see the reason: The fires he had noticed earlier down on
the main floor were spreading, and the air was rapidly filling with
smoke. From time to time the catwalk trembled, and the humming noise
which had been present when they first entered the room was now a
deafening roar.
At last they reached the far side of the chamber, and Mulder threw
open the double doors leading to the garage area and their way
out -- only to be confronted by another of the faceless men.
This time it was Spender who acted, diving forward and careening
into the man. Again the creature was only staggered, but again it
was enough, and Mulder grabbed Scully's arm and dragged her past the
faceless man and into the room beyond.
"Mulder, wait!"
At Scully's command he froze in his tracks and spun about, to see
that she was looking back in the direction from which they'd come --
and in another instant he saw the reason why.
Spender was now collapsed on the floor of the passageway, the
lower part of his body engulfed in flame. As Mulder watched, Andy
ripped off her jacket and dove on the former agent, attempting to
smother the fire; but in another instant it wasn't going to matter,
because the faceless man was raising his silver tube and preparing
to fire.
Then there was a flash of motion, and Scully was literally climbing
the man's back. Her arm rose and fell twice, and the faceless man
collapsed on the floor -- leaving Scully standing behind him,
holding an unsheathed gimlet in her hand.
==========
Scully didn't wait to see the results of her desperate stab, but
just the fact that she wasn't feeling the effects of the toxin told
her she'd been on target. She immediately turned toward Spender,
who was apparently resisting Andy's efforts to help him to his feet.
"Go, go!" he growled out, his teeth clenched tightly against the
pain. "Get out of here!"
"Like hell I will!" Andy spat back, pulling his arm across her
shoulders and struggling to get him up off the floor.
Scully moved forward to help the pair, Mulder joining her from the
other side, and together the three of them moved Spender out into
the garage. The floor shuddered and shook beneath them, and Scully
scanned the room with her eyes, intent on finding a quick way out.
Her gaze landed on a nearby Humvee, much like the one they'd come
in on, and she pointed at it. "There!" she yelled. "Andy, you drive!
Mulder, help me get Spender in the back!"
Mulder took over for Andy, half-carrying Spender into the back of
the vehicle as Andy climbed in front and started the engine with
the keys that hung from the ignition. Scully scrambled in the back
after Spender, Mulder jumped in the front passenger seat, and they
headed back toward the tunnel where they'd come in.
Scully tried not to notice the shaking of the ground or the shower
of dirt and small rocks pouring from the corners of the tunnel's
ceiling. Instead, she focused her attentions on seeing if she could
do anything for Spender.
The burns, she was relieved to see, did not look as bad as she'd
feared. His jeans were charred away in spots, and the skin she
could see was blistered, from mid-thigh down, but she didn't see
much to indicate deep tissue damage.
"Shit!" Andy's voice drew Scully's attention, and she looked toward
the front to see a cascade of rocks falling across the width of
the tunnel just ahead. Beyond, however, she could see the light of
the early-morning sunrise.
"Hang on!" Andy yelled, and Scully saw the reporter's hands tighten
on the steering wheel as she maneuvered through the rockfall and
over the pile of debris that had gathered on the floor. Once they
were clear, Andy stepped on the gas, sending the Humvee careening
up the tunnel and out into the daylight.
Andy didn't slow down, continuing along the rutted road as fast
as she could. The ground continued to roll and shake, but the
effects diminished the farther away they got.
And then a deafening roar went up behind them, and Scully swung
around in her seat to see plumes of smoke and flame shooting from
the ground in the distance as explosion after explosion tore through
the base.
Then the shock wave hit them, bouncing the Humvee up off the ground
and sending the four of them up out of their seats. Scully grabbed
for the edge of the seat with one hand and Spender's arm with the
other, holding on for dear life as Andy fought for, and regained,
control of the vehicle.
Once they'd rolled to a stop, Scully simply sat and stared, wide-
eyed, out the back window at the destruction. Thick, black smoke
continued to billow from the ground, with a few bursts of orange
still popping up now and then, but the explosions seemed to have
ended.
It took her a minute to realize someone behind her was calling her
name.
"Hey, Scully?" It was Mulder's voice, and she turned slowly back
around to look at him, making a vague attempt at cocking an eyebrow
as she did.
In return, he offered her a wan smile and said, "Your turn to buy."
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
===========
Epilogue
===========
Baltimore, MD
Monday, May 31, 1999
Memorial Day
9:47 p.m.
Mulder let the door swing shut behind him and stepped into Margaret
Scully's backyard.
He paused for a moment at the foot of the steps to allow his eyes to
adjust to the dark. The night sky was crystal clear, and overhead
the stars shone down like a thousand tiny diamonds -- and Mulder
found himself thinking back on the early morning batting practice he
had shared with Scully a few weeks before. He smiled wistfully. That
had been fun, and it occurred to him -- not for the first time --
that the two of them didn't have nearly enough fun in their lives.
Nor was that likely to change in the near future, he reflected with
a sigh. After their return from northern Quebec, two weeks before,
he and Scully had been inundated by a flood of paperwork. They had
thrown themselves into the chore with grim determination,
recognizing its necessity even as they complained of the tedium --
and by the end of the first week it had finally been done. Every
observation and experience had been meticulously recorded, and for
once the two partners were in perfect accord, down to the last
detail.
They had filed their report with Skinner on the afternoon of Friday
the 21st, and returned to their office to wait for the reaction. Ten
days later they were still waiting, and the silence was becoming
deafening.
Mulder sighed again, and he moved a few feet further out into the
yard. In retrospect he knew he should have been expecting something
like this -- but this time he had been so sure. *They* had been so
sure. But once again he had apparently underestimated the capacity
of official Washington to ignore, suppress, and evade facts which it
did not wish to acknowledge.
The only really good news during the past two weeks had been the
official return of Jeffrey Spender to Washington. Mulder and Scully
had been a bit suspicious about the former agent's possible
knowledge of or involvement in the Rebels' appearance at Deception,
but he seemed to be as upset as they at apparently having been used
by the Rebels the entire time. The fact that he had saved Mulder's
and Scully's lives more than once -- and had been willing to die so
they, and Andy, could escape the base -- also stood as strong points
in his favor.
And so Spender had arrived in Washington via air ambulance five days
before, having spent the previous ten days in a burn unit at the
U.S. Army hospital at Fort Sam Houston, Texas. He was now ensconced
in a private room at Georgetown University Medical Center -- with
Andy Baker spending nearly every minute of every day by his side.
Mulder had to smile a bit at the thought of the reporter -- former
reporter, actually. Andy had turned in her resignation the day after
Mulder and Scully had finished their official reports, flying back
to Columbus to pick up what she couldn't live without and make
arrangements to sell the rest. She was ostensibly staying with
Scully, although she'd been sleeping every night on a cot in
Spender's room, and eating her meals in the hospital cafeteria.
Andy's commission was soon to go the way of her newspaper job.
She'd been up for a new contract anyway, and had simply refused.
She'd told Mulder and Scully she doubted they'd allow her to stay at
this point anyway, but it didn't matter; her own conscience wouldn't
let her continue, not with everything she'd learned.
She did have a job, though, at least temporarily. The Lone
Gunmen had asked her to write a cover story on the case, based on
"anonymous sources" to protect herself, Mulder and Scully, of
course. In fact, if the Gunmen succeeded in getting some key
funding, they might be able to offer her a more permanent position.
The first female Lone Gunman? Mulder could only smile at the thought.
Mulder was pulled from his reverie by the sound of the door opening
and closing behind him, and he knew without looking that it was
Scully. A few seconds later she slipped her hand into his, and then
he felt the comforting warmth of her body coming to rest against his
side. And for a moment the two partners simply stood together in
silence and looked up at the stars.
"It's Memorial Day," she said at last, her voice quiet and
reassuring -- and with just a hint of wonder in it.
"Yes, it is," he replied, his own voice equally quiet.
"We're still here," she added after another moment.
"Yes, we are," he said, and he slid his arm around her shoulders and
drew her just a little closer to his side.
"Skinner just called," Scully said abruptly. "His contact at the NSA
finally came through with the satellite data we requested." She
paused, and Mulder nodded his understanding -- but still he did not
look down at her. And when she continued speaking her voice sounded
as if she were reading from an official report.
"The satellite photos reportedly show what Skinner's contact
described as 'a significant thermal event' in north central
Siberia," she said. "This occurred on the date we specified and was
roughly centered around the coordinates we gave them. The NSA's
analysts have evaluated this 'event' as a forest fire, with a
confidence level of five."
Mulder laughed mirthlessly and shook his head. "Forest fire," he
murmured. "Where's Smokey Bear when you really need him?"
Scully slipped her arm around his waist, but for a moment she
remained quiet. Finally, very softly: "Mulder, we both know that
report is bogus. But what can we do about it? At least the bee
attacks have stopped."
"For the moment, anyway," he replied, making no effort to hide the
bitterness in his voice. "But who knows when they might start up
again? And there's not a damned thing we can do about it. As usual."
She made no reply to that, but simply moved a little closer and
tightened her arm around his waist -- and again the two of them
stood together in silence. And when Scully finally spoke again, her
voice was so soft he could barely hear her.
"Mulder? I was thinking I might like to go back to Washington
tonight after all."
Mulder felt his eyebrows go up slightly in surprise, and for the
first time since she had joined him outside he glanced down at her.
She was looking back up at him, her expression an odd mix of hope
and anxiety -- and Mulder had a sudden jolt of intuition as to what
she was about to say.
"Why is that, Scully?" he asked, his voice even quieter than hers
had been. He was almost certain he knew the answer already, but he
desperately needed for her to say it. And after just the briefest of
hesitations, she did.
"Because I'd like for us to make love tonight. If that's okay with
you?"
All other thoughts and emotions were abruptly swept away as Mulder
felt a sudden rush of passion at actually hearing those words at
long last. He'd dreamed of this moment for so long; it was hard to
believe that it was finally happening. And after all that waiting,
all that denial and frustration and fear and pain and horror and
loneliness, there could be only one answer.
"Yes, Scully," he murmured, bending low to kiss her. "I'd like that
very much." And then he captured her lips with his, and desperately
tried to imagine a world that had no monsters in it.
==========
Washington, DC
Georgetown University Medical Center
10:04 p.m.
Andy Baker tossed a quick grin in the direction of the night duty
nurse as she approached Jeffrey Spender's room, right across the
hall from the nursing station. The staff had gotten to know her
rather well during the weekend; the 45 minutes she'd just taken for
dinner was the longest she'd been away from him in that entire time.
She readied herself with a smile as she pushed the door open, but
when she did, the smile disappeared in a instant.
The room was deserted, Jeff's bed empty, the IV needle hanging loose
and dripping onto the floor.
Her hand was on the nurse's call button before she even realized
she'd moved, and then she headed for the locker in the corner. Jeff
had been wearing hospital scrubs off and on in the past two days,
instead of the standard paper gown, and a clean set had been hanging
in the closet.
The closet was empty.
The nurse came in just then, and Andy whirled on her. "Where is he?"
she demanded. "Who came to get him? Who let him leave?"
The nurse's eyes were wide as she stared at the empty bed. "No one,"
she said insistently. "He was here when I came by a half-hour ago.
No one's been to see him. I've been right outside the whole time."
Andy was at the window by then, looking outside. The room was on the
third floor, but the section right outside was two stories high, so
the roof came up directly below the window.
And the window was cracked open about a half-inch.
"Dammit!" Andy slapped her palm against the wall next to the window
in frustration. "Jeff, what the *hell* is going on?"
"Miss Baker?" The nurse spoke from behind her, and Andy spun around
to see the woman holding a slip of paper in her hand.
"This has your name on it, Miss Baker," she said.
Andy took the paper and pulled it open quickly, her eyes scanning
the few short lines.
"Andy,
"I'm sorry to do this, but it's the only way. I'll be in touch as
soon as I can. Please don't try to find me; it's too dangerous."
It was signed simply, "Jeff."
Fury and frustration washed over her as she finished reading.
"*Dammit*," she repeated. "What the *fuck* is he doing?"
She crumpled the paper in her fist, turning her back on the nurse
and looking out the window again.
"This isn't over, Jeff," she said, determination hardening her tone.
"Not by a longshot."
And she turned her eyes up to stare into the beauty of the stars.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-THE END OF THE WHOLE STORY-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+